Bang Bang Woah
by theWeekendSquared
Summary: There's a dead body in the lowest level of the most secure prison in the world. There's an evasive criminal who can seemingly kill anything by looking it in the eyes. There's a group of rogue teenage mutants (sadly, no ninja turtles) that have been recruited for a cryptic mission. And then there's Max. A normal college student who's getting much more than she bargained for. (FAX)


**Rated T for language and some other stuff. I'm actually ****_really_**** excited for this one. Enjoy reading!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Max Ride or anything else that seems familiar, but I do own the plot and some original characters.**

Twelve-inch-thick steel walls. 537 feet below sea level. Bulletproof, fireproof, earthquake-proof, everything-proof. They called it the most secure stronghold in all of Europe. Maybe even in the world.

However, they were mistaken.

Commander Ericsson quickly and quietly walked the halls of the Kraken, following the instructions in his memory of where the centermost cell was held.

It had been eighteen years since he had walked these halls last. Back then, he had been a simple private, desperate to prove himself to the world.

He had long since proved himself, and given up a family, a stable life, or even a good income to do so. Ericsson smirked just as his phone rang. The guards who were ushering him looked at him inquiringly. No cellphones in the Kraken. Ericsson was about to put it away; then he noticed the caller ID. It was his mother.

Sighing, he held up a finger to the friendliest guard –Jenkins –and mouthed _Just gotta take this_. He slid his finger on the screen to unlock the iPhone and assumed his most professional voice.

"Hello?"

"David, darling, why won't you ever come home for tea? It's almost the Christmas holidays! At least tell me you'll stop chasing those silly criminals and spend time with your mum on Christmas!"

Ericsson had not realized the phone was on speaker, and he colored slightly as the guards exchanged looks. However, he was a commander, and he _commanded_ their respect –pun intended. He took the phone off of speaker. "Mum, I'm thirty-eight. I know what I'm doing. I can't promise I'll be home for Christmas, but I'll try to drop by when this case is over, okay? Speaking of cases, I am in the middle of one right now. I'll call you back."

He ended the call upon finishing his spiel. Ericsson always liked to have the last word –it was part of what made him graduate police academy at the ripe young age of nineteen. His determination and intellect was just not matched by any of the other commanders who were much older than him. The number of commendations he had received, the number of promotions… It all contributed to why he was the point man on perhaps the most dangerous and important investigation to ever surface.

As they continued walking, Ericsson marveled at the lengths human society had advanced. Five years ago, it was a miracle to even be able to get cell service at the mall. Now, he was getting three bars –no, four –down here, approximately five hundred feet below the ground. Ericsson looked up at the vast, cavernous ceiling and shook his head. No. Exactly five hundred and thirty-seven feet. Amazing.

They entered one last corridor, which looked cold, gray, and imposing with its steel walls, floors, and ceiling. Ericsson found himself descending the last few feet to where the corridor ended –a single, small doo cut into the side of the steel wall. For the first time, he found himself being accosted with minute pangs of apprehension. Who knew what he would find behind this wall…

One of the guards cleared his throat and motioned for Ericsson to enter the 20-digit long passcode to enter the vault. He nodded and his fingers deftly punched in the numbers he had memorized for so long…

362 47238464 832665649

The door slid open with a small creak, and indicated the darkness beyond. Ericsson stepped through, heart beating ever so faster. The guards remained outside the door. They didn't have the clearance to enter the vault with him, and he was not even sure he wanted them there.

Ericsson moved closer to the middle of the room, where a small, 10 x 15 cage stood. Steel bars lined the edges and cameras winked and flashed every three feet.

In the corner, almost hidden by the shadows, he could almost see what the cage contained –a small, crouching man. Ericsson pulled out his key and unlocked the door to the cage, stepping in slowly. He closed the door behind him but left it unlocked… just in case.

The man in the corner did not move or even react when the commander stepped into the cage. Ericsson said loudly, in his authoritative voice perfected after years of training, "Stand up and move where I can see you."

The crouching figure merely laughed. In a hoarse voice, he said, "You can't tell me what to do. They've kept me here for five years. Five years, of total isolation. What else can they do to me?"

Ericsson knew how to keep his cool. "They can kill you. They can and they will, if you don't cooperate and do exactly what I say."

More laughter. "Let them kill me. It has got to be better than this hellhole I've been thriving in." And he spat at the commander's feet. Ericsson pulled out his gun but the man simply chuckled. "You think you can threaten me with your measly weapons? Everyone knows that you need me alive. I'm the only one in the world who has the information you need. You. Need. Me."

"Maybe we don't." Ericsson said definitively. "Maybe we can get by without you. All we really need, see, is your DNA. And guess what? We already have that. Now stand up and face me like a man."

The laughter continued, sounding more bizarre and cruel than any laugh Ericsson had ever heard before. "Oh, Commander, you make me laugh so much." A pause, with more laughter, than he spoke again. "You see, I am not a man." Saying this, he began to stand up slowly, still facing the wall of the cage, still not showing his face to Ericsson. "Oh, I am not a man. You ignorant fool, with your useless metal stick."

There was a pause, where Ericsson tensed up, unsure of what was going to happen next. His hand tightened on his gun for reassurance, and he found himself wishfully thinking about Christmas tea with his mother. "Turn around. That's an order."

The convict laughed some more. "Turn around? You're ordering me to turn around? Fine… Commander… I'll _turn around_…"

As if in slow motion, he turned around, and Ericsson saw the man's face… and screamed bloody murder.

There was a blinding flash of white light, and then darkness.

Ericsson crumpled and hit the ground, dead.

The ragged criminal stood above the dead man's body, laughing. "You see, Commander… he muttered, kicking over Ericsson's body with his foot. "I am _so much more_."

He stood there laughing, in the white glow of the lamps, amidst the pounding wails of the sirens, deep within the grounds of the Kraken.

…

**MAX POV**

It's 5:30 a.m., and instead of huddling in my covers like I'd _like_ to be doing, I am instead waiting for the bus. It's 33 degrees, which is pretty average for Seattle at this time of the year. I signed up to work the early morning shift at the local coffee shop close to my college, because I seriously have to save up since I'm about 300 dollars in the hole from buying a round-trip airplane ticket to San Francisco.

I promised my family I'd visit them for the Christmas holidays, instead of vacationing in Cabo or Maui like my friends were doing. You know, nice family time. I'm an only child, so it's not like my parents had some bratty little child to wait on while I was away. Plus, it was my first real break away from home, and I just wanted to see my parents. And it was fun and all, a nice vacation, but I'm in _debt_.

I stare at my reflection on one of the puddles on the ground. Same boring face, same short, boring blondish hair, same boring blue eyes, same boring everything. What I wouldn't give to dye my hair orange and live as a performance artist in New York… Except I can't dance or sing or act to save my life.

I shift my bag up my arm as the bus finally comes rolling around the corner. Brrr. At least it's not raining, which is the case usually about 360 days a year.

Fifteen minutes later I show up at Joan's, which is the quiet little local coffee place. The one good thing about it being so early is that I only see the regulars, who I just love.

"Hey, Max." Joan, the owner, grins at me as I enter. I hang my jacket on the coat rack and don the dark blue aprons all employees wear. "It's cold out there, isn't it?"

I nod. "You could literally use it as a freezer. You know how some people say the world is their oyster? Right now, the world is my freezer. Which is good because the one in my dorm is ant-sized."

Joan laughs. "Here, sweetie." She hands me a cup of frothing hot liquid and I stare at it dubiously.

"Um, what –"

"Chai tea latte. On the house, to warm you up." She notices my expression and grins. "Oh don't worry, it tastes great!"

I don't usually drink caffeine, unless I'm studying for finals, but the drink warms me, inside and out. Soon I feel ready to tackle the world, which, for me, isn't too big.

Pretty soon, my first regular comes in. Mrs. Johnson, a lovely old lady that lives across the street, who always comes in at exactly six in the morning for her decaf cappuccino with extra skim milk. She beams at me as I make her order. "All right, Max?"

I grin back. "I'm doing well, you?"

"Oh, I'm fine. Just can't wait for the cold to lift." she says, smiling.

"Oh, I know." I say back. "Then maybe my glasses might stop freezing to my face!"

We both laugh as I hand her her coffee. The next two hours pass without much incident, unless you count Matt, the newest barista, dropping his first drink and splattering a cocoa frappuccino all over my apron.

"Oh, jeez, sorry, Max." he mutters hastily, trying to grab a napkin and wipe the splatters of milk all over the ground and my apron.

"Hey –it's okay –" I say, trying to step back just as my next regular, Jones, a high school football coach, comes in and sees Matt bent down in front of my legs. "Hi, Mr. Jones!" I say hurriedly, yanking my foot from Matt's grip.

"Morning, Max." he says, grinning and winking at me. "I'll have the usual." Then he leans in close to me and whispers, "But aren't blow jobs usually supposed to work the other way?"

I turn purple. "He's not… I mean…" I point to the milk splatters on the ground. "He just spilled milk…"

Jones smirks. "Right. _Milk_."

And there goes the most perverted adult I have ever had the misfortune to meet. I have no idea how he manages to have a happy wife and three children. Matt finishes wiping the milk from the ground, but my apron is a lost cause.

"I'm really sorry Max –"

"It's okay." I say, cutting him off curtly.

The coffee shop is pretty quiet, just a couple of people reading at one of the tables near the bathroom, and one other old guy that's sitting at the table closest to the window, looking out every five seconds like something exciting's actually going to happen. I yawn and look at the clock. It's only seven:thirty. I mentally groan as I realize I have to be here for six more hours.

The door jingles and my last regular, another elderly lady, Ms. Denver, swaggers in. Yeah, I said _swagger. _She might be 72 but she's still a player. She was a real beauty once, and all the boys flocked towards her like birds after a particularly sumptuous cracker. Gross analogy, but still. She's never been married, and she still has flings with men half her age.

"Hi, Ms. Denver!" I say, smiling brightly. "The usual?"

She smiles at me through brightly colored lips. "Of course, darling. And wait until you hear about my latest catch!"

I start making the coffee myself because I don't trust Matt to not drop it. "Sounds good."

She leans forward. "His name's Johnny Penhaligon and he is _so_ wonderful… and rich, if you don't mind me saying." She gives a tinkling little laugh. "Marry rich, my mother always said… Well, anyways, he's forty-three and absolutely amazing in every way. Mentally, physically, spiritually, financially… and good in the bed, if you know what I mean."

I laugh awkwardly. Joan should be paying me so much more. Nowhere in the job description did it say I'd have to regularly chat with old ladies who have better sex lives than me. Not just sex lives. But _romance_ lives.

I haven't even had a legitimate boyfriend since sophomore year of high school, when I dated Freddy Baker because he asked me to the Spring Fling and I was trying to get back at my freshman boyfriend. I didn't even like Freddy, but somehow we dated for six months and _he _ended up dumping _me_. In senior year, I went to the prom with the class clown, Seamus Hanahan, and he literally treated the whole thing –and me –as a joke. My best friend Ella and I spent prom night TP-ing Hanahan's house and running from the cops.

So maybe I've given up on dating for a while, or maybe boys just aren't attracted to me. Boys think I'm either the quiet bibliophile who always carries a book around or the extremely vociferous jock that smashes on the hockey field. I've yet to meet a guy I've been attracted to mentally, physically, spiritually… and I don't really care about finances but that would be a plus.

"How about you, honey?" Ms. Denver is saying. "Any luck in the boy department?"

I turn red. "No. Not really. I've given up on dating, I want to focus on my studies, you know?" I lie hurriedly.

She sees through my lie. "Well, you're not going to find a man hiding behind those glasses!" she says. "Let your hair loose, go for a night on the town! You're young and beautiful, don't waste time being predictable! And if all that doesn't work –" she winks at me –" then just try online dating." She bustles out of the coffee shop, clutching her now-cold coffee.

"That is one weird old woman." Matt says from behind me.

"Yeah." I say, still pretty shell-shocked. She's right. She's right. My life is so predictable –I go to class, come home, read for a bit, then go to field hockey practice. I come back to the dorm to grab a bite of dinner, then maybe Ella and the other girls will come over for movie night or for just talking. I never do anything other than that. My biggest and craziest decision I have ever made in my life is deciding to come to Seattle for college and leave my parents, and Seattle isn't even that different from San Francisco. I've never tried anything new. I've never put myself out there. Even as a kid, I had a specific set of places I would go, things I would do. Have I even ever been outside of my comfort zone?

I don't think so. Maybe the reason I've never had a real relationship is because I'm too… _boring_.

I catch my reflection in the blender and look at myself. I take off my glasses and have to squint a bit, but I can clearly see. I look _so_ much better.

I'm going to put myself out there, and I'm going to start by getting contacts.

* * *

**A/N: This is a completely revamped, new version of Chapter 2. I was reading the older version and realized I had absolutely no clue where the story was going to go afterwards... but now I've got it down. Hope you guys like this version of the chapter better... Please remember to review if you do!**

* * *

_SOMEWHERE ON THE WEST COAST_

_HEADQUARTERS OF THE INTERNATIONAL COALITION FOR THE ENHANCED (I.C.E.)_

_EXACT LOCATION: UNKNOWN_

Jeb Batchelder stood outside the giant office. The small window in the middle of the door was tinted so that he couldn't see inside. So that he had no idea what he would be walking into. His heart was beating faster than a hummingbirds –he knew it because of Experiment 16-A –the disastrous bird cardio experiment.

Batchelder was already on edge because his latest experiment, 16-A, had gone completely wrong. He was sure the Director would not be happy with him because of it. The thought of what was waiting for him behind that door… He shivered and knocked. The Director would _not_ be happy.

The door opened suddenly, without a creak. Gulping down his fears, he stepped in and the door automatically closed behind him. Batchelder looked past the door into the room –a long, rectangular room with white walls and white laminate flooring reminiscent of a hospital. He gulped again. The whole room had the essence of a hospital room –everything was white, crisp, and clean.

In the middle of the room was a long, oval table, also white. The white chairs along the edges of the table were unoccupied –but the one at the head was not. The black revolving chair at the head of the table stuck out in contrast to the white room. The chair was turned around so Jeb couldn't see the person sitting in it but he saw a hand resting on one of its arms.

"Come in." The Director's voice was quiet, yet it somehow filled up the whole room. Jeb cleared his throat and advanced towards the head of the table. After a long pause the Director spoke again. "Sit down. You'll need to sit down."

"Yes," Jeb said hurriedly, scrambling to take a seat. He waited nervously, heart thumping, for the Director's response.

"I've learned something today, Jeb," the Director said. "Something that will not make you happy. Something that didn't make me happy at all."

"What?" he asked nervously.

Another pause. "Are you sitting down?"

He nodded, then remembered the Director couldn't see him. "Y –yes." Was he going to be killed? Or worse, ripped of his position and status, cast off into the bottomless pit known as prison?

The Director leaned back in the chair. "There has been a death. One of the ICE's best field agents. David Ericsson has been killed."

Jeb felt like he had swallowed a bucket of cold ice. He could feel the coldness settling into his heart and his insides. "By… whom?" he choked out, unable to speak normally.

"By whom?" the Director asked, still facing the wall. "What a _good_ question… By whom?"

Jeb looked at the back of the chair and fought the urge to bite his nails. "One of _them_?"

"One of _them_," the Director said, enunciating the word just as Batchelder had done. "I see." There was a very loaded pause, then, suddenly, the chair whirled around.

The Director, a very imposing woman in her mid-forties, regarded Jeb coldly for a moment. Her blonde hair was perfectly coiffed into a tight bun, with not a strand out of place. She was wearing a crisp black suit with a blinding white blouse. "You were very close with him, weren't you?" she asked Jeb after a moment.

Jeb bowed his head slightly. When Ericsson had first entered the ranks of the ICE, Jeb had been his mentor, his guide. Over the years, the boy had demonstrated so much skill and potential that he had skyrocketed up the ranks, becoming a commander in just ten years. Indeed, Jeb had been close with him. "Yes," he muttered, then remembered who he was talking to. He looked the Director in the eye, fighting back tears. "Yes." he said, louder.

"Who let this happen, Batchelder?" The Director asked, standing up.

Jeb paled. "I… I… I don't know. It must have been… I don't know."

"Who authorized his mission?" she asked him. It was a pointed question, designed and carefully calculated to make Jeb as uncomfortable as possible. He shifted.

"I mean… it was… well…"

"You. _You_ did. Because of you, the ICE'S most valuable field agent is dead." She paused to stare at his shocked face and then smiled the smallest of smiles. More like a leer. It didn't reach her eyes. "Like that on your conscience?"

He couldn't speak. It was his fault… all his fault… Little Davey Ericsson was dead… He sat numbly in the chair, unable to move or speak or even wrap his head around what happened. He felt a hand on his shoulder, felt nails dig into his skin. She whispered in his ear and he flinched.

"By the way, I know about the hummingbirds. You are just getting worse and worse, aren't you?" The Director hissed.

He barely heard her next words.

"You'll have to be punished for this."

…

_MAX POV_

"… and what is love, really? Is it just a chemical reaction in the brain? Or is it something more?"

My philosophy professor is on one of her emotionally charged lectures again. Last time, she talked about teen suicide and it lasted for 3 ½ hours. I missed Calculus 101 because of her.

I really don't know why I took Intro to Philosophy, because it's all one big joke. Philosophy is incredibly subjective, and no one sees it the same way as another person. I would know. I don't see anything the way Professor Newman does.

"Who here has experienced true love? Let the oxytocin flow through their blood vessels like trillions of tiny water droplets converging to form a mighty river? Anyone?"

To my surprise, about half the class's hands go up. I smirk as Tommy Hall, who I know has never even had a girlfriend, raises both his hands in earnest. The professor calls on him. "You there, in the front row. How do you know you've been in love?"

Tommy, a short, pudgy guy with a doughy complexion, turns slightly red. "Well… I know it's a love that can never be… but no one gets it going for me like Kate Upton…"

The class erupts into laughter but Professor Newman plows on, unfazed. "What are the exact symptoms of your… forbidden love? When exactly did you realize you had these feelings?"

I have to bite my lip to keep from giggling. Tommy has turned bright red, like the color of an overripe tomato. "Um… when she was on the cover of Sports Illustrated… that really did it for me. I started buying sports magazines just to see her boo –face." He pauses, bright red, as all the other seventy students in the class conceal their laughter. Newman nods at him to keep going. "Um… I sometimes dream about her…" He turns purple and doesn't speak anymore.

Newman looks at Tommy appraisingly. "Well, that's certainly _passion_… going in one direction at least… Anyone else have an experience with _true_ love that they'd like to share?" She gazes out into the class, but of course no one's fool enough to raise their hand after the Kate Upton thing. People know enough to keep their sexual fantasies to themselves.

I raise my hand, to my own surprise. Professor Newman looks surprised to see me, but calls on my anyway. "Yes, the young lady in the second row. What's your name?"

"Max." I say loudly, standing up. "I don't have an experience I'd like to share, but I want to dispute something you said earlier."

She nods. "Go on."

I wring my hands. "I don't think true love exists. And even if it did, it's probably extremely rare, and not at all possible that this many people" –I gesture around at the class –"have all experienced it. I mean, just think about it. There are seven billion people in the world, and what are the odds that two people will find each other and love each _completely_? Beyond that, what are the odds that a bunch of eighteen and nineteen-year-olds have found their soul mates already? I honestly think love only happens in movies, but not in real life."

"Someone's PMSing hard today." A guy behind me whispers.

"I don't think she's gotten laid in a while." Another guy says.

I ignore them and look at Professor Newman, who's nodding as though I said something quite intelligent (well, it's not like I said anything stupid). "Well, Max, it's interesting that you feel that way. This is exactly what I expect from a philosophy class –people challenging me and each other, trying to find the right path from the midst of a tangle of brambly bushes!" She looks at me curiously. "Can you tell us why you feel as though true love does not exist?"

I pause. What can I say that won't cause me to end up like poor ol' Tommy over there? "I… guess I just don't think I'm old enough to pass snap judgments." I say truthfully.

Newman nods. "But Max, have you ever experienced anything close to love? Passion, perhaps? A simple infatuation, like Kate Upton over here?"

I think back to Freddy Baker and Seamus Hanahan. Both were dicks. Both didn't give a crap about me, and I sure as hell didn't _love_ them. I think back to Mrs. Denver, who claims she's been in love with a different man every week. And her newest lover, Johnny Pinto Beans or whatever the hell his name is. I think long and hard, and finally I say, "No."

…

Class gets out five minutes later, and I try to blend in with the pack of students leaving. But Professor Newman catches me. "Max."

I groan slightly and stay back. "Yes?"

She gazes at me with her unwavering stare. I shift my bag on my shoulders, trying hard not to blink. Have I just entered an impromptu staring contest?

Before my eyes start watering, she speaks. "Thank you for your comments during class today. They were most… thought provoking."

"Yeah, sure." I say. "Anytime."

"I'd love to discuss this more with you and hear more from your viewpoint. Perhaps today, after all my classes are finished? Say, 6:00?"

I shake my head. "Sorry, Professor. I can't skip field hockey practice."

She smiles. "Perhaps that is why you have been unable to find true love. Because you have thrown yourself into athletics. Oh, well. See you next week, then, Max."

"Bye." I say, hurrying out of the classroom and straight into Ella, my best friend in the world.

"Ohmygod, Max." she says, squeezing my arm. "I was waiting outside the door for, like, forever! I heard from Tommy Hall that you guys had an _intense _convo about love… Care to elaborate?"

I grin. "Well, I basically stood up against a whole institution and said that love didn't exist…"

Ella winces. "Oh, Max. So naïve. Of _course_ love exists –have you never seen the _Titanic_? Jack and Rose? Or what about The Great Gatsby?"

"Well, all the guys in _my_ life have been assholes…" I pause suddenly, looking at a bulletin board outside the dean's office. "Wow. Look at this –it's a Valentine's Day dance flyer from _last year_."

Ella grins as I attempt to yank it off. "Don't do that! I don't think you're allowed to!"

I rip it in half by accident and sigh as I see that I've ripped one of the paper hearts in half as well. "You're right. I guess this is a sign that I'll never find _love_…"

Ella squeezes my arm again. "Oh, sweetie. Of course you will! And even if it isn't love…" She winks at me. "You'll at least find a hot boyfriend, I promise. In fact, if you're looking, I think I can set you up! You know that boy from my physics class, the really cute one I was talking about…"

"Mmm hmm." But I'm no longer listening to Ella –I've just noticed another sheet of paper, taped to the board beneath the Valentine's day flyer I've just ripped up..

, an online dating site for college students…

_And if all that doesn't work, then you can just try online dating_.

I glance over at Ella, who's still jabbering away about the boy in her physics class. I look around to see that no one's watching, and I pull the flyer off the board, fold it up, and stick it in my pocket.

I'm going to find my Kate Upton!

The male version, of course.

…

_FANG POV_

This chair is pretty damn comfortable.

Plush, red leather. I'm guessing at least a dozen cows went into making this piece of furniture. Poor cows –all they would ever become is a piece of leather. Probably bred just for that.

And leather's not the only animal cruelty in here, either. Just look at this office. A huge shag carpet covers the ground, there's a vase made entirely of feathers, and on the wall is a tiger skin. Just for fun. It makes me sick.

But, still… it's a pretty comfortable chair. I'm lounging in it with my feet up on the desk, when I hear the unmistakable sound of the door opening behind me. I turn around and smile coldly at my old friend.

"Ah, Jeb. What brings you here today?" I ask him, giving him a cool smile.

He nods curtly at me. "Hello, Nicholas."

I smirk. "You know that's not my name."

Jeb bows his head. "I… I know."

I watch as Jeb looks around the office uncomfortably, as if he's unsure whether he belongs here. "Oh, I borrowed this office from a high-level business guy." I say airily. "Currently, he's wandering around confused in an alleyway. Probably not going to come here anytime soon. You've got time."

Jeb looks apprehensive. "Borrowed… meaning?"

I grin. "Always were the worried one, weren't you, Jeb? But then… you're a Normal. You have reason to be." I motion for him to sit down and put my feet back up on the desk. "Now, then, what can I help you with?"

Jeb looks around furtively before leaning in close to me. "Nicholas… David Ericsson is dead."

Suddenly my throat goes dry. The smirk slips from my face. "What?"

Jeb pauses for a moment and regards my reaction. "He was on Mission X-7… and he was killed." Jeb hands me a file, and I flip through it. It's filled with pictures from the crime scene, all of which show Ericsson's body lying sprawled on the ground. The interesting thing is, there's not a single mark on his body. Not a single scratch, blemish, bruise, nothing.

He could be sleeping, except he's dead.

"Why are you telling me this?" I ask Jeb brashly, closing the folder and pushing it back at him. "I don't want to know this! I finally manage to escape I.C.E. –"

"Just when we need you the most." Jeb says quietly, looking at me.

I shake my head. "No. I'm done with that. I'm done being experimented on. When are you whack job scientists going to realize that your _experiments_ have brains, hearts, and nerve endings, too?"

"Nicholas –"

"_That's not my name_!" I snarl. "And I am not helping you. You can go now."

"It's not for an experiment!" Jeb says, getting defensive. "We need you because you're the strongest, most resilient, most successful mutant to ever come out of I.C.E.'s testing branches. We need you to finish what Ericsson started. We need you to finish Mission X-7."

"What about Iggy?" I ask, folding my arms.

Jeb winces. "James went blind in an… a horrible accident. We deeply regret it…"

I stand up abruptly. "No you don't, do you? You don't regret it any more than you regret the Erasers, or the Millennials, or any of your other failed experiments! You're just another heartless scientist, no matter how much you try to pretend! And now you want to come back to me and beg me to do you a favor? Suppose I end up like Ericsson! You'll just experiment some more on my dead body!" I stop, breathing heavily. "What about Nudge?"

"Monique escaped, like you. Simply dropped off the radar. Hasn't been seen in a couple of years."

"But you're not after her, because you haven't found her yet, have you? How about Angel? The Gasman?"

Jeb winces. "Celeste and Jason –"

"USE THEIR REAL NAMES!" I yell, nearly flipping the desk over. "You already took their lives away from them! Why don't you suck it up and use their _real_ names rather than the ones you fabricated?! I can't believe you have the nerve to come after me and ask me to do something for you after everything you did!" I walk over to the window and see Jeb's reflection in the clear glass. He's also standing, as though unsure what to do with himself. "How did you find me?" I growl, my back to him.

Jeb wrings his hands. "I knew you'd never really _leave_. I knew you'd be here all along, watching us, making sure no one else got hurt. You're too protective for your own good, Nick."

"My name is not Nick." I say quietly, feeling the blood pounding in my heart. "It was never Nick." Suddenly, I lunge across the room and pin Jeb to the wall by his throat with one arm. "What's my real name, Jeb?" I hiss.

He splutters and gags. "I… don't…"

I tighten my grip and lean in close to his ear. "My. Name. Is. Fang." I release Jeb, and he sinks to the ground slowly, gasping and massaging his throat. "And I'm no longer that wide-eyed, weak kid you knew all those years ago."

"Fang… please…"

"Go die in hell." I spit.

"If you do this, I can grant you full immunity." he says.

I pause.

"No more experiments." Jeb continues.

"How do I know you're not lying? Like you did all those times?"

Jeb looks at me. "You have no idea how important this mission is to I.C.E. How important it is to the world, in fact. You would be… you would be saving the world." He slowly rises to his feet again. "All you need to do… is look at the file."

He puts the file on the desk again. I don't open it, but I don't push it away, either. Instead, I look at Jeb. "You know I don't trust you. Not after what you did."

He nods sadly. "Don't do it for me. Do it for David."

"And if I don't accept?"

He shrugs. And I can guess what might happen if I don't accept.

"I'll need to assemble my team." I mutter.

Jeb's face breaks out into a nervous smile. "You –you'll do it?"

I fixate my eyes on the file. "Not for you. For Ericsson. I don't owe you anything. _You _can go rot in hell."

Jeb nods. "Of course. And Fang – good luck."

He leaves the office and I stand there in an office that doesn't belong to me, with a file that might just seal my entire future.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Chapter 3 is in the works!**

**\- ZipUnZipIt**

* * *

_**MAX POV**_

I am… butt tired.

It's all I can do to stop my head from falling on the desk.

Ella and I, and our other friends Mads and Helene were doing a group study thing but they left a few hours ago. Because it's finals week and I have just finished my third all-nighter in the week studying for my two favorite classes –biology and chemistry. I dunno why, but I've always been more of a science girl. My philosophy final was a disaster –I already know that. But I feel confident about bio and chem…

If I don't start snoring first.

"Max." I hear someone say faintly. I ignore it and close my eyes. Someone shakes my shoulder. "Max!"

I yawn sleepily. "Wha –wha –what?"

"Get up!"

I prop my head on my palms and look at the unwelcome visitor. "Go away." It's just Tanya, the irksome dorm RA. Maybe if I close my eyes and wish hard enough, she'll turn into a toad.

"Uh, _Max_!"

I sit up. "What?" I snarl. "Can't you see it's, like, three in the morning?"

Tanya shakes her head. "Max, it's 8:50."

I sit there in a dumb stupor, unable to comprehend. "What?"

She points to the blinking clock on my desk. The bright redness hurts my eyes, but there's no mistaking what it says. _8:50_.

Oh… Oh _fuck_!

"Shit!" I yell, jumping up and gathering my books together. "My final's in ten minutes!" I push past Tanya and catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I look like a nightmare –my hair's all frizzy and gross, my eyes have huge bags under them, and my clothes are all rumpled up and disgusting. Ignoring my newly-bought contacts, I shove my glasses on, nearly poking my eye out, and race down the hall, papers flying behind me.

…

I burst into the science wing and sprint as fast as I can down the hall to the biology classroom. I look at my watch. I'm only two minutes late. It's fine. It's fine…

I reach for the door handle only to find that… it's locked.

Breathing heavily, I lean against the wall and blink back tears. My temporary surge of panicked adrenaline is fading, as are my hopes and dreams of passing Honors Biology. I sink down to the ground, choking back tears. This is my own damn fault… If I hadn't stayed up half the night making my stupid eFantasy profile…

I hear a clink and the door opens slowly. I look up, hastily wiping my eyes, to see Doctor Gunther-Hagen, my biology professor, staring at me. "Miss Ride?"

I stand up, tucking my frizzled hair behind my ear. "Sir."

He doesn't smile. "You're late."

"I… I know. I overslept." I admit.

Dr. Gunther Hagen crosses his arms. "As per university rules… you should not be allowed to take my final. Lateness is not tolerated."

My heart drops into my stomach. "Oh."

I don't understand the look he's giving me –is it pity? Quietly, he says, "That being said, you are one of the best students in my class. I assume you were up all night studying?"

"Of course." I say, unsure where this is going.

"Can you give me the evolutionary explanations for why the genetic code is rich with patterns? For example, the 20 amino acids are coded for by similar sets of codons. Why is this?"

"Professor…"

He simply looks at me, and I try hard to remember. I must have read something about codons in my frantic studying… Think, Max!

Aha! "Evolution is basically the creation of new organisms from an existing parent organism. Therefore, evolution is a modification process. The diversity of life we have today –which is constantly shifting –is a result of the gradual process of evolution from a common ancestor. All basic biomolecules in all organisms in the world must have originated from a single, prokaryotic cell. That prokaryotic cell –well, traits from it –have been carried over from generation, to generation. That's how you see patterns in the genetic code." I say breathlessly, hoisting my books up in my arms.

Dr. GH looks at me for a few moments and then nods. "Perfect answer. Miss Ride, you are permitted to take the final." He moves aside to let me in.

I stare at him. "Are you serious?"

Is that a hint of a smile? "Yes, as serious as your grade's going to be if you don't get in there."

I hurry into the classroom, ignoring the stares from everyone else. Try as I might, I can't stop the gleeful smile from spreading over my face.

Science, bitches!

…

Two hours later I stumble out from the classroom, feeling better than I have in ages. I _owned_ that final, I know I did. Biology –especially genetics –has been my favorite topic of study ever since I was a little kid. While other eight-year-olds were hanging Hannah Montana posters on their walls, I was hanging posters of the human body and genome.

I know, it's weird. My parents certainly thought so. They tried hard to squash the passion out of me for some reason, tried to get me interested in fashion or makeup, but they couldn't.

Ella comes running up to me as I start walking towards the chemistry classroom. "Hey! How'd it go?" She pauses and looks at my appearance. "Why d'you look like Lindsey Lohan after she did meth?"

I grin. "Oh, man, I came this close to flunking bio…" I tell her about how I overslept but Dr. GH let me in and she grins.

"Oh, Max. Just think, your nerdiness saved you today. Physics was horrible –I forgot the equation for work. Who forgets the equation for work? And Mark –the really sexy guy I was telling you about –was like, 'Hey, how'd it go?' And I was like, shit, it was horrible. That's the longest conversation we've had all year." She beams at me.

Okay, can I just be the first to say that Ella's bloody gorgeous. She's got a supermodel for a mother –Valencia Fuentes –and she's inherited her mother's fantastic looks. With hip length, curly brown hair, bright gray eyes, and a long, lithe body, guys should totally want to hit that. _I _want to hit that. But she still settles for guys who are way undeserving of her, and I have no idea why.

As for me, my love life's already a sham. But if I'm lucky, that should be changing very soon –

Okay, fine, I'll tell you. I wasn't studying last night –well, I was, but not the _whole_ time. Instead, I spent a good few hours making my secret eFantasy online dating profile.

I mean, my love life was going nowhere. Mads has gone so far with her boyfriend that they've reached the Holy Grail of love –saying the three words that bind you to a person for life. They've said _I love you_ to each other. Helene lives with two guys –she probably sleeps with both of them all the time. Ella is bloody gorgeous and could probably get a man anytime she wanted. It's just _me_ that's alone.

But all that's going to change.

I mean, it had better change.

It will change. I'm sure of it.

...

**_FANG POV_**

I'm looking at a normal-looking, white, two-story house. Quiet suburb, green grass, a Toyota Camry in the driveway.

Nice place.

I grin slightly and make my way towards the front door. Checking my reflection in the window (nope, I don't look like an axe murderer, even with the black leather jacket), I ring the doorbell.

A middle-aged woman appears , short, strawberry blonde, complete with apron on. She looks at me with a confused expression on her face. "We –we already got the paper, dear," she begins, but stops when I shake my head.

"I'm looking for James." I say in a low voice.

She looks at me for a solid minute. "I don't know who you're talking about." she says finally.

She starts to close the door but I stick my foot in the doorway. "James Griffiths." I say, quietly but forcefully. "He lives here. Doesn't he?"

She shakes her head violently. "No! I don't know who you are, or what you want, but there is no James here!" Her voice shakes just a little bit.

I nod. "Okay. Well, if he ever shows up, please tell him that… Nicholas was here."

I remove my foot from the doorway and she closes the door rather forcefully. I haven't even walked two paces when the door suddenly opens again and she calls out, "Wait!"

I turn around to see a 6'4'' boy with strawberry-blond hair, numerous freckles, and ice-blue eyes standing in the doorway. I can't stop the smile from spreading over my face. "Iggy."

Iggy's gaze is fixated on a spot some four feet to the left of me. "Fang?"

My smile is so wide I might be splitting my face in half. I haven't smiled this wide since… we were all together. And that was multiple years back.

Iggy throws his long arms around me. "Fang, man, is that really you?" He takes a long sniff. "Sure _smells _like you."

"Yeah." I say, grinning. The guy's grown even taller than me, if that's possible. "Yeah, it's me."

…

Ten minutes later we're situated at the closest Starbucks I could find. Iggy's sitting in the seat across from me, his fingers drumming on the table, while I calmly sip my pure, black, coffee, looking around at the quaint, quiet surroundings.

"How's life with your… mom?" I ask finally. Iggy frowns.

"Who… the woman that opened the door and nearly scared you off?" He sniggers. "No, she's not my mom."

"No?"

"Nah, my real mom turned out to be a drug addict. Total drama island, I can tell you. It's a _long_ story. It's been, what, five years?"

"Maybe more. I can't even remember."

"And you haven't changed a bit. Still the man of few words?"

"Hey, it keeps me alive." I say, frowning.

Iggy nods. "I… I wish I could see you, man." He falls silent for a few minutes. "Have you changed? Looks-wise? Because not that it matters, but if you've suddenly gone blond, I'd like to avoid being seen with you."

I smirk. "Nope. Same old black hair. How have you accustomed to living without sight, then?"

Iggy sighs. "It's not too bad. I wish I could still ogle at hot girls like I used to be able to, but this works out to. I can play the pity card. Chicks love a blind, _sensitive_ guy… I've had, like, three girlfriends since we last met."

I grin. Sight or no sight, he hasn't changed at all. "And how many have you flirted with?"

Iggy waves his hands. "Irrelevant."

I nod. "I can't believe I.C.E. did that to you."

Iggy sighs again. "Better me than someone else. Imagine if Beyoncé went blind. _That _would be a true tragedy. But that's why we escaped, right? To avoid tyranny and oppression. 'Murica!"

I fiddle my thumbs. "About that…"

He leans forward. "So what brings you to my humble corner of the world? Jetsetting got too rough for you?"

"No, not that." I exhale, wishing I could refill my coffee cup by magic. "You remember when we first broke out of the School? Before it became I.C.E.?"

"Like I'd forget." Iggy says lightly. "It was one of my last memories with sight."

"You remember how we worked together to escape?" I ask, grinning.

Iggy scrunches up his face. "You mean my ah-mazing bombtastic explosives that got us out? Yeah, I remember. Not something one forgets easily, you know."

"You still remember how to make them?"

Iggy frowns and stops drumming his fingers for a moment. "I might be a bit rusty –I haven't blown anything up in a while. Well, I blew up a toaster last week, but I don't think that counts. Nothing major, anyways. Why do you ask?"

I clear my throat. "I have a mission for us. A super dangerous, complicated, all-that-you-got kind of mission."

"You have piqued my interest."

"Mission X-7."

I watch as Iggy's eyes widen and his mouth falls open. "But… but... what happened to Ericsson? Wasn't he heading it?"

"He's dead." I say brashly. "We were gone too long."

Iggy winces. "Great. One more funeral I have to attend." He shifts in his seat. "So, what, you're randomly going to take it upon yourself to finish it? Since when were you so noble?"

"I didn't take it upon myself. Jeb told me –"

"Don't you _dare_ mention that traitor's name." Iggy says, breathing hard.

"Ig –"

"He's the one who separated us! He's the one who approved _this_!" He points furiously to his unseeing eyes. "He's the one who let me go blind without even batting an eye! He pretended to care for us, and love us, but really, he just wants to experiment on us! He's the worst of them all!" Iggy shakes his head. "I don't want anything he's handed to me. I want him to leave me alone. And if you were even the littlest bit sane, you'd abandon your stupid instincts and find yourself a nice home in Tallahassee or Minnesota like me. Someplace where you can lie low, and never be bothered by the stupid I.C.E. ever again."

"Oh yeah? Why d'you keep blowing up toasters if you're completely _safe_? Why are you hiding behind an old lady from anyone that might come looking for you? Wake up, Iggy! You're not safe! You're not hidden! The I.C.E. knows exactly where you are, and if they wanted to, they could kill you like _that_." I snap my fingers for emphasis. "I'm not doing this for Jeb. You know I hate him just as much as you do."

Iggy still looks furious and unconvinced. "Then what are you doing it for?"

"Immunity." I pause for effect, then continue. "Full immunity. You won't have to spend your life hiding in a city you don't know. You can go to college, get a degree, get a job, marry someone, have a normal life. You'll be granted a new name, and a new lease of life. You'll finally be legit, never being chased down by scientists or Erasers ever again."

Iggy pauses. "And you trust Jeb? After what he did?"

I simply look at him.

Iggy is silent for a long time. A few minutes, maybe more. I can see the cogs in his head, underneath his red hair, working furiously. Finally, he says, "Suppose I do this and get the immunity thing. Hypothetically, f I blow up something big, like the Capitol building, will I be exempted from persecution?"

"No."

"Can I frame the Taliban?"

"No."

"Can I frame Justin Bieber?"

"Iggy, you can't blow anything up _or_ frame anyone." I say firmly. "But if you join me on this mission –then we'll see what you can do. I'm not promising you can blow things up, but there's a chance you'll need to."

Iggy falls silent once again and thinks some more. After possibly the longest recorded pause in a conversation ever (and probably the most boring world record), he says, "Okay." He shakes his head, grinning ruefully. "I must be mad, but you've got yourself your pyro."

"Excellent." I say, standing up and slapping him on the back. "Come on, we've got to get on step one."

"What's step one? Iggy asks, stumbling to his feet.

I rub my hands together. "We assemble the flock. Let's fly."

* * *

**Be prepared to meet the rest of the flock!**

* * *

**_FANG POV_**

A few hours later Iggy and I land roughly on the soil of Oregon. Iggy immediately topples over and rolls onto his back, sighing. "Goddammit, that fucking hurts." He massages his shoulders. "Stupid muscles."

"When was the last time you flew?" I ask him, holding out my hand to help him up, and then remembering he can't see it.

Iggy scrunches his face up. "I can't even remember. Too long ago. Um, where the hell are we?"

"Portland."

Iggy scrambles to his feet and turns his head. "Ah. I get it now. Smells like coffee and meth. Portland, what a beautiful place."

I look at him curiously. "I don't smell anything."

Iggy marches forward, leaving me behind. "Well, you don't have the Super Sniffer." He goes a distance in front of me and calls back, "Fang! Catch up!"

I should tell him he's about to walk into a streetlamp, right?

…

Ten minutes later, we're standing in front of a large, iron wrought gate. The gold-plated sign at the top reads _Carnegie Mellon Academy._

Iggy shoves his hands into his pockets. "So you think Nudge's at some prep school –"

"Not just any prep school. The best one in the country." I look up at the golden lettering, mildly impressed. I mean, she's done well for herself. Not the place _I _would've chosen to spend my time (because, like, school's gross,) but still. It's nice. "She has a blog."

"A _blog_. While I was hiding in the back of a stupid house, she's making herself _easier _for the Erasers to find her."

"I'm thinking of getting one myself." I say casually. "After all, it's free, harmless, and I've been wanting to learn how to type properly."

"So, what? We're just waltz right into some fancy schmancy academy place?"

"That was the plan." I say, already pushing the gates open.

…

_Carnegie Mellon Academy is a place for the most intellectually, athletically, and artistically gifted students to showcase their amazing talents. Our state-of-the-art facilities and A++ certified instructors will guarantee you and your prospective student the best, most intimate private school experience one could hope for. Carnegie Mellon is number one!_

I skip through the brochure, looking incredulously at all the alumni and parent testimonials and pictures of the school. Then I flip to the backside and look at the tuition prices, when my jaw nearly drops.

"Iggy," I whisper, nudging him.

He jerks out of his stupor. "Huh? What? Erasers?" Guess the plush, chintz armchairs in the ridiculously posh office do make a person drowsy.

"No –look how much you have to pay just to put a deposit in this school! How the hell is Nudge paying for this?"

"Mr. Walker?" the receptionist calls, and I put the brochure down.

"Hi," I say, smiling pleasantly at her. "I've just gotten out of college –quarter's ending, you know, and I was wondering if I could say hi to some old friends of mine that still go here." It's not the best plan I've ever had, but right now, it's the only plan I have.

She smiles back at me. "Aww, how nice! What college do you go to?"

"Um…" Think fast, Fang. I look around wildly for inspiration, since no college names come to mind. Spotting a potted plant on the receptionist's desk, I say, "Tulip Mountain University." Then I bite my tongue. Stupid, _stupid_. What the fuck is Tulip Mountain University?

I read her nametag upside down- her name is Becky. I grin at Becky and, to my relief, she grins back. "Sounds like a nice place. Are there lots of flowers there?"

"Yeah. Tons. About meeting my friends –"

"Of course! Well, the communal lunch break is starting in a few minutes, so you can just meet your friend then!" She beams at me and continues typing.

I stare at her. "That's it?" No nametags? No full body scans? This is the best private school in America! Shouldn't there be more security –not that I'm complaining?

Becky winks. "Well, _technically_ I'm supposed to make you fill out all these forms." She gestures to a formidable-looking stack of papers on her desk and I wince. "But, you're a handsome young man, and you seem all right, so as long as it's just a hello, we don't need to do all that." She winks at me.

I nod. "Thanks." I seize Iggy by the scruff of his neck and all but drag him out of the office. On the way to the cafeteria he won't stop ragging me.

"Man, that lady was totally into you. Why d'you think she let you go in without any problems? She's got the hots for Fang!" He only shuts up when I elbow him in the throat.

We reach the cafeteria and I throw open the doors… then stop dead.

There must be at least five hundred students in here. _And_ there's a second floor. "Iggy, how the hell do we find Nudge? There's almost a thousand students!" Iggy's not even listening to me. His ears are cocked in the direction of a group of giggling girls, all of them wearing layers of makeup and uncomfortably tight clothes. They catch my eye and giggle some more, and I look away. "Iggy, focus. Please."

"I think we should split up." he says breathlessly. "Cover more ground that way."

I start to protest but he's already walking in the direction of those girls, so I sigh and scan the cafeteria. There's a dark-haired girl on the far end of the room that _could_ be Nudge... but then she turns around and I shake my head.

Then I see it. A mane of thick, curly, dark hair, bobbing up and down on the second floor. The hair has a streak of pink running through it, which settles it –I remember when Nudge dyed her hair, all those years ago. I grin.

She's talking to a few boys, who all look like –I think they're called _jocks_, with their muscular builds and less-than-intelligent expressions. Smirking, I slide into the empty seat right behind her, ignoring the stares from her friends.

"I'm not going to the Spring Fling with you, Sloan. I told you before, you're a sexist asshole." Nudge is saying.

Before Sloan can reply, I say quietly, "Will you go with me?"

Nudge whirls around, sees me, and her eyes widen to the point where I think they actually might fall out of her head. She fights for words for a few moments, ignoring the fact that everyone is looking at us, and finally comes up with, "You."

"Me." I say, nodding. My black hair falls into my face and I push it back with one hand.

"How did you…"

"Find you?" I lower my voice, looking around at the awestruck cheerleaders and muscly footballers, who look as though they've seen God, for some reason. It's flattering, of course, but I'm not _that_ noticeable… why the hell is everyone looking at me?

Nudge smiles at her friends while somehow also managing to glare daggers at me. "We'll talk later." She says.

I shake my head. "We'll talk now." To Sloan, I ask, "You don't mind if I steal your girlfriend for a minute, do you?"

Sloan opens and closes his mouth, unable to speak. I nod and get up, walking out of the cafeteria. I hear the scraping of a chair being pushed back and know that Nudge is following me out. I lean against the nearest wall of lockers outside the cafeteria and look at Nudge.

"Tell me," she says, crossing her arms. "How did you find me?"

I shrug. "I have Internet connection, and you have a blog. On a side note –maybe you shouldn't broadcast your whereabouts just in case the Erasers are nearby… And I noticed you're going by Tiffany now, when did that happen?"

Nudge flushed angrily. "You can't expect me to hole up in hiding like you! I wanted to live a normal life!"

I nod. "Right. But, before you were Tiffany, you were Krystal. And before you were Krystal… you were Nudge."

Nudge shakes her head. "I'm not Nudge anymore. I'm Tiffany. To some people, Tiffany-Krystal –but that's not the point."

I lower my already quiet voice further. "Nudge. You want to fly again?"

She opens her mouth to reply, but just then the bell rings and a flood of students come out of the cafeteria. Nudge presses herself up against a locker to avoid getting trampled, and I follow suit. I spot a familiar redhead in the midst of a pack of girls, and I grin to myself.

"Iggy's here too?" Nudge asks, looking in my direction.

I nod. "Yep. Uh… do you have any classes you need to be in urgently?"

…

Ten minutes later, we're sitting in an empty classroom and I've told her everything. Nudge's eyes widened when I mentioned immunity, and I actually think I've got her convinced. She opens her mouth –probably to agree –and then says one word.

"No."

Wait, what? "No?"

Nudge sighs. "Fang, as much as I loved running around with you guys, I have a life here. I haven't used my wings in years, and I'm not even sure I want to anymore. And I'm certainly not ready to risk my neck attempting a weirdo mission that killed the I.C.E.'s best field agent. I'm seventeen and not getting any younger."

I stare at her incredulously. "Are you even listening to yourself? Am I talking to the same Nudge that single-handedly hacked the School's databases and freed all the other mutants… when she was _twelve_? Nudge, we need you. It won't be the Flock without the Nudge Channel."

Nudge shakes her head. "I'm happy here. I have friends and a secure life."

"Do they know about…?" I leave the question hanging in midair. She looks away. I _knew_ it. "Nudge, you might be able to hide your wings by wearing sweaters and jackets, but it won't be winter anymore. Sooner or later, you'll have to change in the locker room or something, and what'll you do once people find out their friend is a –"

"Don't you dare say that word." Nudge growls at me.

"_\- mutant_." I finish, looking at her. "You don't belong here, not yet. Once you have full immunity, you can become Monique and finally be 100% normal… if that's what you really want."

There's a long pause, where Nudge debates within herself, then she finally nods. "I'll do it. I'll be the hacker. But I _hate_ the name Monique –I'm not French! Stupid hipster parents."

I grin. "You can pick whatever name you want, Nudge."

Just then Iggy bursts into the empty classroom, breathing heavily, covered in what looks like lipstick marks. "Guys? Are you in here?"

"Hey, Iggy." Nudge says.

Iggy lets out a sigh of relief. "Hey, Nudge. You in?"

"Yeah. Fang convinced me."

"Sweet. Um, we gotta go. There's a horde of girls that won't leave me alone and one of them has serious onion breath, I swear. What's the fastest exit route?"

Nudge grins at me. "He hasn't changed a bit."

"Nope." I say.

…

**_MAX POV_**

"Hello, Joan?" I ask cautiously into my phone. "Hi, it's Max. Um, I can't come into work today because I'm… sick…" Here I give a loud, but believable fake cough. "Sorry. I bet Matt's ready to take over the main barista role, though. He only dropped two drinks in a three-hour shift."

I finish the voicemail and hang up, feeling incredibly guilty. But the feeling soon passes as Ella, Mads, and Helene arrive, squealing. It's the weekend after finals, and we're going out for some partying… although for us, that just means stealing a few beer coolers from the older students and watching sappy movies like _Because of Winn Dixie_.

I've just spent five hours trying to get my stupid new contacts in my eyes. They tell you how life-changing and brilliant contacts are, but they never tell you how freaking _difficult_ it is to even get the damn things in your eyes. I've ripped two already and accidentally dropped one, but it's okay. It's a learning process.

Oh yeah, one more thing –I have a date tomorrow night! It's with this guy named Henri Brewer. He goes to Seattle University, plays lacrosse (which is basically field hockey, let's admit it), and is a total 90s movie nerd, just like me! I'm actually _super_excited… if wanting to throw up every time I think about it counts as being excited. It's at this super swanky restaurant in downtown Seattle, which apparently is a partner of the eFantasy dating site, so couples go there for blind dates all the time.

I haven't told any of the other girls, not even Ella. I want this thing to be real before I admit that I stooped to online dating. I want to make sure Henri Brewer isn't an axe murderer or a secret spy or something. But what are the odds of that, right?

I am so nervous.

I think I'll go throw up again real quick.

* * *

_FANG POV_

"He _doesn't _work here." Nudge looks disbelievingly at the dilapidated sign that reads _O'Hanahan's Irish Pub_.

I check my laptop, just to make sure. "No, the photos do not lie." I say, showing her. With my handy dandy laptop, Nudge managed to track down every single place Jason Scrute had ventured after escaping from the School. Every single time he used that fake name, Nudge had it down.

And _she_ said she didn't hack anymore.

Nudge tracked Jason Schrute, a.k.a. The Gasman, down to this pub in southwestern Oregon. I'm almost positive he's in there, but Nudge's getting cold feet.

"But… who in their right mind would hire a sixteen-year-old to be a bartender? Don't they check ID's? Isn't there a law?"

I smirk. "Since when have we cared about laws? And besides, this is Gazzy. Forging an ID is as easy as pie."

"Guess some of us have gone soft." Iggy mutters. We grin at Nudge, who huffs.

"You guys are twerps." she mutters, pushing past us into the shabby pub.

Iggy and I follow, and we see that it's almost empty. But that was to be expected, bearing in mind it's like 2:00 in the afternoon on a Tuesday. The only man in the pub is a middle-aged man behind the bar counter, who grins at us as we walk in.

"What can I get for ya, laddies?" The Irish man behind the counter smiles crookedly at us. He's wearing a nametag that says, _Patrick O'Hanahan is at your service._

No ID check? Might as well go with the flow. "We'll have three beers." I say quickly before Nudge can say something stupid like, "_We're underage!_"

He nods. "Eyy, Schrute!" He calls to a boy with blondish hair in the back of the bar, who I failed to notice earlier. "Get the lads and the lassie their beers!" O'Hanahan turns back to us and grins. "So, what brings ya to this corner of the world?"

"Just on a road trip." I say blithely. "Sightseeing and whatnot."

"Ya see the Space Needle yet?"

"Of course."

He grins at Iggy and Nudge. "Do yer friends talk at all, laddie?"

I smirk. "Not much." Beside me, Nudge's fists tense. She's probably never gone this long without talking before, but if she opens her mouth she'll blow our cover. She knows that.

Schrute comes over with our drinks, a cap pulled suspiciously low over his head. O'Hanahan claps him on the shoulder. "Why are ya hidin' yerself, Schrute? We've got customers!" He turns back to us. "He's the busboy."

Schrute doesn't respond, just walks back to his station where he continues to wipe tables. Nudge elbows me but I ignore her. "He's a shy guy, huh?" I say casually, popping the lid off my beer.

O'Hanahan chuckles. "Yep. 'Bout as shy as yer friends over there."

At this time Nudge apparently decides she can't hold it in any longer and bursts out, "Do you have a bathroom?"

The owner nods, looking surprised. "Down the hall and to the left."

Nudge gets up and leaves without looking at me. Iggy coughs. I keep my eyes trained on the boy in the corner of the bar. I need to figure out a game plan, quick. If that boy over there isn't Gazzy, I'll eat my leather jacket. And I'll bet a million dollars that he knows it's us. He's less than happy to see us, for some reason.

'Schrute' continues to wipe the tables with an oily handkerchief. Iggy takes a long dreg from his beer, his eyes obscured by his dark sunglasses. O'Hanahan has retired to the cash register, busy counting the money I paid him. I don't take my eyes off of 'Schrute', who keeps his head turned away and continues to wipe the same table for longer than he should.

It's extremely quiet except for the sound of Iggy leaning back in his stool, muscles tensed. I watch as the boy wipes the same spot on the table, scrubbing back and forth. I don't think the table's going to get much cleaner.

CRASH!

The silence is broken by Nudge throwing the door to the bathroom open. She stares at the busboy very conspicuously, and makes her way over to her seat. I can read her expression clearly as if she's talking to me telepathically.

_Fang. That's –_

_I know_. I try to say, raising my eyebrows. _He's not responding to us_.

"Follow my lead," I mutter to Nudge and Iggy. We finish our beers and I stand up as if to leave. I thank O'Hanahan and make my way towards the door, the others behind me. Schrute is still scrubbing that same spot on the table –he's been doing that for 10 minutes now. I grin. As I pass him on the way out I lean in and whisper, "Enjoy scrubbing tables, Gaz?"

He drops the rag and straightens up. Before I can say anything else, he pushes past Iggy roughly and pulls the door to the pub open, darting out. I stand there, mouth open.

"He's running!" Nudge yells, and races after him.

Iggy and I follow close on her tail. Just ahead of us is Nudge, and a little ways ahead of her is an unmistakably silvery-blond head. I turn into an alleyway and Iggy stumbles over a box, nearly falling. "Shit!" he yells, throwing his arms out to break his fall. "I'll just wait here, then! Can't run, 'cause of being blind and all that!"

I leave Iggy in the alleyway and quickly catch up to Nudge, who's at an intersection, panting. "Where'd he go?" I ask her.

She's clutching a stitch in her side. "I –don't –know –maybe that way." She points towards a Wal-Mart in the distance and I shake my head. He just doesn't learn, does he?

I leave Nudge on the sidewalk catching her breath and tear off after the blond figure in the distance. I reach the parking lot of the Walmart and duck and weave through harassed-looking fathers tucking their screaming children into the seats of the carts, teenagers embarrassed to be seen with their parents, and a few guys doing something that smelled suspiciously like meth… Iggy was right, after all. I slowly catch up to the blond guy, moving faster and faster.

So close… _so close_…

I grab the blond boy by his shoulder and slam him against the wall of the Walmart just as he's about to enter. "Hello, Gaz." I snarl, twisting his arm painfully behind his shoulder.

The Gasman winces. His hat's fallen off. "Gerroff me."

I debate for a moment and squeeze his shoulder less hard, keeping a close distance in case he tries anything. "Why'd you run?" I ask him, slightly breathless.

He looks really shifty. "I… thought… you'd be after me for… reasons."

"F-Nick!" I hear in the distance. I turn around to see Nudge and Iggy waving to me in the distance. Keeping a firm grip on the Gasman's upper arm, I walk over to meet them.

"You got him!" Nudge cheers. "Why'd you run, Gaz? We knew it was you. _I _knew it was you the moment I saw you wiping tables in that pub –_and why were you working in a pub? _You're sixteen! You're not old enough to be a bartender! Why'd you run? It's not like we couldn't catch you. Look at you, you're so tall! Are you taller than me? I bet you're not taller than me. Fang, is he taller than me? Tell me he's not taller than me. I haven't grown that much and he's grown like ten feet –"

"How about a nice _drink_?" I ask, interrupting the Nudge Channel.

…

"You don't understand." The Gasman says earnestly, leaning forward in his chair. We're at a Starbucks (not a pub, thank God), and Gazzy has just drunk two, nearly three chai tea lattes. Hyper is an understatement. "After we left the School, Angel and I decided we'd find our parents. And we did… sort of. I mean, we found them, but she turned out to be a drug addict and he died in a drunken car crash. After that… Angel and I split up."

Nudge gasps. "You _split_ –"

"I was twelve, and all alone, and totally at a loss for what to do with my life. So I forged an I.D. –that was easy as heck –and worked odd jobs. I kind of missed mixing chemicals together, though, so as soon as I looked old enough I applied to be a bartender, because that's basically mixing things." Gazzy sips his third latte. "And I was the best bartender that old Irish dude ever had. I thought you guys were narcs. That's why I ran. Can't afford to be in the system."

"None of us can." Iggy smirks.

"Well, I mean –" Nudge begins.

"Forged identities don't count." Iggy points out. Nudge shuts up.

Gazzy looks around at all of us, his blue eyes abuzz with electricity. "So, what brings you here? Nudge, looking good, Ig, nice shades. Fang, still got that moody, emo look going?"

I hastily brush my hair out of my eyes. "Moody? Emo? Me?"

"To be fair, you _do_ look sort of emo." Nudge says. "I'd ditch the black leather jacket and the black jeans. Is that supposed to look cool?"

"I agree 100%." Iggy declares.

"You can't even see, you dumbass." I say, irritated.

Gazzy's eyes widen. "Why, what happened?"

As Iggy tells the Gasman and Nudge his woeful tale, I glance outside. I thought I just saw… But never mind. It can't have been. All the Gen 2 and 3 Erasers were retired after we broke out of the School. They were retired before the School became the I.C.E., four years ago.

But what was that furry thing, then?

I snap back to the present as Nudge elbows me. "What?"

"First sign of being emo: getting lost in your own head."

"I am _not_ emo." I snap. "Can we get back to the situation at hand? Gaz, I've recruited you all for a special mission."

"Sounds spicy."

"Oh, it's spicy, all right."

Ten minutes later, we have another member on our team. Gazzy, the expert chemist and adept at making everything from stink bombs to poison with his chemical knowledge. He was by far the easiest to convince. I didn't even have to mention immunity –as soon as I mentioned it was dangerous he was in.

We leave the Starbucks and I rub my hands together. "Okay, Gaz. Where's your sister?"

His face brightens. "Exactly where you think she'll be."

"You don't mean…"

"Yeah. Headquarters of the I.C.E."

Well then, I guess we're going back to Seattle. Kind of annoying, when you realize that I was just there.

* * *

**I know this was sort of a filler chapter and I know Max wasn't in this one but I PROMISE sparks will really fly in the next chapter... No spoilers though!**

**Fine, here's a hint: Max still hasn't gone on her blind date...**

* * *

_FANG POV_

"We'll have to be careful." I say.

"Obviously. That goes without question. The real question is, where the hell is your sister, Gaz?" Iggy's looking out at the view as if he expects to see something.

"Ooh, look, a Bloomingdale's!" Nudge exclaims excitedly. Us three boys look at her like she has a screw loose. Nudge folds her arms. "What, a girl can't get excited about high fashion?"

"Maybe not while we're in the middle of a mission." Iggy mutters.

"Hey, who has my binoculars?" Gazzy asks, looking around.

"I do." Iggy says matter-of-factly, holding the binoculars up to his face and nearly jabbing his eye out.

"Oh, okay. Just don't drop them over the balcony." Gazzy says. Nudge and I stare at him for a moment, trying to see if he gets it. Sure enough, after a moment, Gazzy's eyes widen and he snatches the binoculars back from Iggy. "Hey! You can't even see!"

Iggy smirks. "Took you long enough."

…

_MAX POV_

"Hey, Max!"

Startled, I fumble with the pitcher of milk I've been holding and nearly drop it. Looking up and dripping with milk, I put on my best smile. "Joan! Hi!" I set the half –empty pitcher on the counter and wipe my hands off. "What're you doing here? I thought you were only here on Fridays!"

Joan clears her throat. "I've been wanting to talk to you for a while," she says. Oh goodness, she's not smiling. "Meet me in the back in five minutes?"

"I've got customers –" I gesture to the increasing line of impatient people behind her.

"Matt can take care of them. _Can't_ you, Matt?"

Poor Matt looks at the huge line of people –Friday morning rush hour's never pretty –and looks terrified. But his look is nothing compared to how I feel.

As I follow Joan through to the back of the store, my heart is thumping. Is she going to fire me? She can't fire me! I _need_ this job. I was already three hundred dollars in the hole from my plane ticket and now I'm another two hundred dollars down because of these stupid contacts. _And_ I'm going to be paying for a fancy dinner tonight.

Joan motions me to sit down and I do, nervously. I look at her usually smiling face, noticing the lack of a smile all the more and I falter. "So." Joan says.

"So." I say nervously, wringing my hands.

"So I have a proposition for you." Joan begins. I breathe a little more air out of my lungs. A proposition. That doesn't sound so bad. No one gets fired as part of a _proposition_. "You're always saying how you want to travel the world and experience everything life has to offer, right?"

"I… I probably said that at some point." I mutter.

Joan leans forward. "My grandson, who's a doctor, is hosting a biological expedition to the Amazon rainforest to document all the endangered species. It's three months long, and he can take a few more for his trip. I said to him, I know the perfect girl! You're a biology whiz, aren't you? Why don't you go have some fun this summer?"

"I don't know about _whiz_ –"

"Would you consider it?" Joan looks at me appraisingly and I feel myself wanting to do it. This is a really great opportunity! Except… except I know I don't have the guts to go to a different country for three months without my friends or my family or anything familiar.

"I'll think about it." I hear myself saying.

As she walks away I feel the slightest bit indignant. I am not _that_ boring. In fact, I have a blind date tonight. That'll show her. That'll show all of them.

…

_FANG POV_

Nudge groans. "Oh… my aching _everything_. I've been crouching for hours!"

Iggy yawns. Cups of black coffee litter the balcony of the hotel room we've been on for the past seven hours. "Gaz, I love you man, but right now, I want to kill you."

The Gasman's running his fingers through his hair. "I don't get it. I don't get it. She told me she was leaving to go to the Headquarters of the I.C.E. She said she had some unfinished business. That's what she said!"

Nudge snorted. "Gaz, you of all people should know you can't believe anything she says. Angel, my ass. She should be called _Devil_, if you ask me."

"Deviled eggs. Yeah." Iggy says dreamily. "And nice, juicy bacon… Man, I'm starving."

I stand up and enter the hotel room. "Iggy, all they have in the minibar is tiny bottles of tequila."

"Tiny tequila!" Gazzy says excitedly. "I could make martinis!" We look at him and he shrugs. "What? I know how to make all the drinks. Don't worry, I haven't actually drunk any of them."

I take the last steaming cup filled with pure, black coffee and down it. "This is stupid. We shouldn't be here so close to the I.C.E. Suppose the Erasers find us." I look at the others, who are all in various states of lethargy. Nudge's head has dropped to her knees, Gazzy's feet are on a chair and his head's on the ground, and I can hear Iggy snoring. I sigh. "I'm going for a walk." I mutter.

…

I reach the sidewalk and start walking briskly down the street. I _hate_ being idle. I guess it's since I was locked in a cage for nearly half my life, when the only form of physical exercise I got was banging on the bars every so often, screaming to be let out.

The more I think about it, the more I can't believe I said yes to this mission. Mission x-1 is the most dangerous mission out there. Even as a kid I remember the scientists talking about it in hushed voices. They would always talk about deaths. Someone would always die.

I can't believe it was Ericsson. He was the oldest surviving mutant (they want us to call them _enhanced beings_) there was. Part cheetah. He could run faster than a Maserati Spyder could accelerate. He was a living legend, and was extremely powerful. He was the only mutant not locked in a cage, instead allowed to go out and attend military academy or whatever the hell he did. He was the only mutant they let into the ranks of the I.C.E. after the School changed its name. For some reason, they started hunting the rest of us down.

Nudge, Gazzy, Iggy, Angel, and I initially planned to stick together. We had stuck together all those years in the School and it was only each other's friendships that kept us going. But after the Erasers caught up to us, we were torn apart. It made sense not to go looking for each other after that, because whenever we were all together the Erasers would find us and they would try their hardest to kill us. But even if the others lost touch with each other, I never did. I kept tabs on Iggy, I followed Nudge's blog, and I kept an eye on the fake moniker the Gasman went by.

The only person all of us had lost touch with entirely was Angel.

The youngest of all of us. I might even dare to say she's the most powerful out of all of us –next to me, of course. By the time the whacko scientists got to Angel, they had perfected the serum. When she became a mutant, she had all the powers we had and more.

The streets are packed, full of people trying to get out of the cold Seattle weather and go wherever they were going on a Friday night. I push on, head still swimming with thoughts.

Where did the Erasers go? It makes no sense that they would all be retired once the School transformed into the I.C.E. I hadn't seen one in almost four years. But could swear I glimpsed one in the Starbucks in Portland.

I walk past a coffee shop, not a Starbucks, but some other one named Joan's. Do I want a coffee? I look inside at the one boy behind the counter, who looks like he's being pushed to the breaking point with all the work he has to do. I decide against it. Any coffee place which only employs one person must be a horrible place.

I keep walking. Better to keep walking than to remain still.

…

_MAX POV_

I'm actually sitting here. Eek!

I stare at the little placard on the table, hardly daring to believe it. This fancy Italian restaurant, a partner of , does this thing where they put a little placard on the table and on either side is the other blind date's profile. I got here ten minutes early for my 7:00 date because I was so nervous. I look at the clock on the wall surrepititiously. It's 6:55. I think I might die from anticipation.

I look at the side of the placard that has Henri Brewer's profile on it. His profile picture is one of a lacrosse stick, so I'm not sure what he actually looks like. I'm hoping that our mutual love for cheesy 90s movies might get the conversation started. He wants to major in chemistry, which is at least close to biology.

Gah, I think I might be sick.

I check the clock again. The time is now 6:59. My God, a horrible thought has just occurred to me. What if he doesn't show up? What if he chickens out? What if… what if I get stood up on my very first blind date? I pick up the napkin on the table and start winding it around my fingers nervously.

7:00 comes and goes and the ice cubes in my throat slip down into my stomach. He's not coming, is he? Stupid Henri Brewer with his stupid lacrosse sticks and his stupid, _stupid_ lateness. Stupid blind dating. Stupid –

Is that him?

There, outside the window.

If that's him…

My God, I find myself thinking. _Please let that be him_.

The boy outside the window looks to be about my age, eighteen or nineteen, and he's absolutely _gorgeous_. Jet black hair that looks like it's been carefully tousled to look stylish, fine, chiseled features, sexy rocker –punk clothes (I never was into the whole black leather jacket look until now), and dark, gold-flecked eyes that you could get lost in –

Hang on.

Fuck, he's looking right at me! I dive behind the overly large menu and will myself not to turn red. No, Max. You haven't just been caught ogling the most attractive boy you've ever seen. Nope, nope, nope.

The door to the restaurant jingles and I look up just in time to see _him_ slide into the seat across from me. I feel my heart skip a beat but force myself to look cool and distant. I may not be an expert at dating but something tells me drooling all over this boy will be an instant turn off.

He gives me a crooked smile, looking totally at ease. "Hey,"

"Hey," I say in a choked voice. I clear my throat and take a sip of water. "You're late."

Thank you, online dating!

…

_FANG POV_

"You're late."

My eyebrows come together and I have a split second of confusion before I spot the placard on the table. One side says Henri Brewer and lists likes and dislikes. The other side says Max Ride and I immediately understand.

I've walked right into a blind date.

Why did I walk into a blind date? Well, five minutes ago, I was continuing my walk, and I looked up to see this beautiful girl looking right at me. She looked forlorn, like someone had stood her up, and I decided to try my hand at being Prince Charming and sweep her off her feet –but now I can see that won't be happening.

Putting on my best apologetic façade, I say, "I know, I'm sorry. Traffic was horrible, and then parking, and paying the meter… I should've just taken the bus."

Max –I've deduced her name from the handy dandy card on the table –smiles. "So, is that what people these days wear to blind dates?" She smiles at my clothes.

I mentally slap my forehead. Stupid, stupid. Of course you don't wear black leather jackets and dark jeans to a blind date! _But, you didn't know you were going to a blind date ten minutes ago, did you?_ "Sorry," I say, smiling. "I had no idea what to wear. This is my first blind date, too. All my other clothes were in the wash. It was either this or my lacrosse uniform."

Maybe I haven't walked into such a bad situation after all.

…

Nudge was trying to focus on spying, but that was no easy task when Iggy kept snoring next to her and Gazzy kept pelting her with mini stink bombs. Just think that two days ago, she had been one of the most popular girls at Carnegie Mellon Academy, resisting the efforts of the football captain to sleep with her… and now she was reunited with her old flock.

Most of the old flock, anyways. It had been almost an hour since Fang had left and Nudge, too, was starting to get restless.

Nudge grabbed the next stink bomb before it hit her face and flung it back at Gazzy. "Stop that or I'll kill you." she snapped.

Gazzy stopped. "Why're you PMSing so hard?"

"You think that's funny, do you?"

"I'm just asking, I mean, girls at your age –"

"_What do you mean, girls at my age_?"

"Guys, stop fighting." Iggy had just sat up, yawning. "It reminds me too much of the old days."

Nudge glared at Gazzy.

"It's not really like the old days." Gazzy said matter-of-factly. "There aren't any big honking Erasers. And we aren't in cages. And there's mini bottles of vodka."

"Yeah, what happened to the Erasers anyway?" Nudge asked, standing up and stretching. "I heard they were retired or something –but that doesn't make any sense."

"Don't look at me," Iggy said. "Actually, I can't tell if you're looking at me or not, but don't. I have no idea. But it's good to know that those stupid, furry, teddy bears are no longer in commission. Guess they couldn't keep up with us." He laughed and Nudge and Gazzy joined in.

They were still laughing when the huge, hulking shadow landed on the balcony.

"Well then," a deep voice growled. "You should have no problem handling teddy bears now, should you?"

Nudge looked up and screamed.

In front of them was an enormous, bulky, feral, foamy-mouthed, sharp-clawed, dead-eyed half-wolf, half-human.

Otherwise known as _not_ a teddy bear.

Otherwise known as an Eraser.

* * *

Iggy felt a 100-pound weight drop into his stomach. "Gaz," he whispered. "Hold my beer."

"What beer?" Gazzy whispered back furiously. "We're about to be clobbered!"

"I know… but I feel like pissing my pants right now and I wanted to say something manly to make up for it." Iggy whispered.

The Eraser, huge and hulking, reminded Iggy of a really large, ugly boulder. It stared at the three of them leering, tensed up, and they stared back at it.

"I think we're going to have to make a break for it," Nudge muttered.

"Okay," Gazzy said. "Ig, at twelve o'clock there's a fire extinguisher on the wall –"

"What's he supposed to do with a fire extinguisher?" Nudge snapped.

"Clobber the thing over the head –"

"Oh, _yeah_, that'll work!"

"You have a better plan?"

"How 'bout this?" Iggy muttered. "Gaz, you rip one of your trademark scents and Nudge and I'll tackle the thing from the front and then we'll make a break for it."

"Jumping off the balcony?"

"We have wings, don't we?"

"Yeah, but –" Nudge looked down at the ground, faintly green. "What if people see us?"

"You want to be wolf meat? I personally don't. I _know _I taste horrible." Iggy snapped.

"Ready to die?" The Eraser growled. The three of them jumped. Somehow, in the midst of the argument over arguing how to fight the Eraser, they had forgotten the Eraser was there. Irony at its finest, Iggy thought, grinning.

"Yeah," he said simply. "You are. Evasive maneuver four, go!"

Thank _God_ they still remembered Evasive Maneuver Four. He head Nudge snap her wings and fly upwards, heard Gazzy knock over the balcony table, and he himself launched himself in the direction of the Eraser, tackling it head-on. "Bleargh!" He had gotten a mouthful of fur. Spitting hair out of his mouth,

"Ig, watch out!" he heard Nudge scream. He dove out of the way just in time to hear a sickening thwack where he had been standing a second earlier.

Nudge fluttered to the ground,, panting from the effort of just dropping a metal chair on an Eraser's head. She looked over at Gazzy, who was using the table as a shield, and at Iggy, who was lying on the ground panting.

Gazzy stood up, clutching the legs of the table for support. "Uh… that was fun?"

The Eraser groaned slightly. "Come on," Nudge said, herding the boys towards the door. "He's not going to stay conked out for long."

"You should've thrown something heavier, then." Iggy said, still spitting out coarse, long Eraser hairs.

"Maybe I should've thrown you," Nudge snapped.

"Uh, guys, you may want to stop arguing." Gazzy said nervously, pointing to the Eraser's arm. "Its watch thing is glowing. It kinda looks like it's calling for reinforcements."

"C'mon. We've got to get out of here." Nudge said, pushing the boys out of the way.

…

_MAX POV_

"It's Henri, right?"

He grins. "Yep. That's my name. Henri" –he squints slightly at the placard on the table – "Brewer. The name I was born with."

I grin too. This isn't as bad as I first thought. Of course, it's only been about five minutes, but those five minutes went pretty well, if I may say so myself. Henri's actually really charming. He complimented my dress with just the right touch of shyness that I could tell he was being genuine, he pulled my chair out for me, and his hand's been inching closer and closer to mine. "So, tell me, Henri, what made you want to go out on a blind date with me?"

He leans slightly forward, smiling. "That's easy. You're beautiful."

I start to blush but then I notice something. "I didn't put a profile picture on the website."

He doesn't miss a beat. "I _know_ that. I was talking about the words you used in your profile… I could tell there was some sort of connection, you know? I could tell a girl of your caliber was writing it."

"All I wrote was three lines. My name, my likes, and my dislikes." Henri's looking really awkward now, and I grin. "It's okay. You don't have to pretend like we had a _connection_ or anything. I know that no one wants to be alone on a Saturday night, and if I'm being honest, that's why I wanted to go out with you."

"Have you… been alone a lot?" Henri asks me, looking at me intently. I find myself gazing into those gorgeous dark eyes.

"Um… quite a lot, yes." I mutter, breaking away from his gaze.

Henri leans back. "Well, I can't imagine why. Any man who would turn down a chance to be with a girl like you is clearly blind. Or mad."

I smile. "Look, I get you're trying to be nice, but we've only known each other for ten minutes. You can't base all your judgments about me off of my looks. I mean, what if I had been butt-ugly? Would you be saying the same things you're saying now?"

…

_FANG POV_

I like this girl. I really do. I've flirted with a _lot _of girls in the past, and every single one of them has fallen under my spell so far. But not this one. She's challenging me, making me actually think about my words, and I like it. So I grin and I say, "Okay, you got me. You're gorgeous and that's all I know. But I'm willing to bet that even if this date was being conducted in the dark, where we couldn't see each other's faces, you could look like an Erase –like a troll and I'd still want to talk to you."

Max laughs. "Good answer."

She sips her drink and I look at her. "So… why _have_ you been alone all those Saturday nights?"

Max blushes. "Well… I mean… just… I dunno." She takes another long sip of he dink to avoid answering, probably.

"Come on," I wheedle. "There's got to be a reason. You don't have herpes or anything, right?"

She giggles. "Of course not! What kind of girls do you hang around with?"

I give her a crooked grin. "Apparently, not the right ones. But really. What's stopping you from putting yourself out there? Don't you know there's tons of guys in the world?"

Max blushes. "I do. Unfortunately, I haven't met the right one yet. So far they've all been complete asses. And also it's probably because I'm… too afraid. Too afraid of what might happen if I lay it all down on the line."

…

_MAX POV_

Did I just say that? I almost clap my hands to my mouth and then stop. Why do I care if Henri Brewer knows the most intimate things about me? I don't even know the guy. He's a complete mystery. I'd care if, like, _Mads_ or Helene found out, but not Henri.

"Okay, I just told you a secret, so you have to tell me one." I say, grinning.

He winces. "A secret? How was that a secret? Heck, I could've deduced that just sitting here talking to you."

"Well, you're a freshman at Seattle University." I say, smiling in what I hope is a coy way. "I can't imagine you'd even have that many juicy secrets."

Henri nods. "Yeah. You got me. I'm just an ordinary college student. Way to make someone feel special." He gives me a crooked grin and continues. "Well, what can I say? I guess my secret is that… I've flirted with a lot of girls, but I've never really felt anything major before. I mean, I know I'm only eighteen and stuff like that, but I can't help to think what it would be like if I actually had someone who I… loved."

I look down at the ground. "Um," I say. "Well, I actually had this discussion in my philosophy class the other day. I don't really think love exists. And if it does, then only a lucky few ae able to find it. I don't think it's right that the media and books portray it as this really amazing thing. It's just two people that can stand each other enough to get together and have kids and make babies. That's all."

I look up, face determinedly red, to see Henri laughing. "What's so funny?" I demand.

"That's a really amazing viewpoint," he says, smiling. The blood turd's making fun of me! "So here's what I know about you so far. You're afraid to put yourself out there _and _you're cynical about love. So I'm going to help you."

My mouth suddenly goes rather dry. "Help me?"

Henri gets to his feet and holds out his hand, pointing that amazing crooked smile at me. "Come on." he says, taking my hand. I feel an electric tingle when he touches me.

"Where are we going?" I ask, heart beating with apprehension.

"Dancing."

…

_FANG POV_

Aha! Max wants excitement? Little does she know she's just met the most exciting guy in the world. True, I may be a tad too exciting for her taste (I doubt she'd go for the whole wings thing) but it's still nice to enjoy a pleasant, albeit stolen date with a beautiful girl. Best part is, I don't even have to worry about the real Henri Brewer showing up because by the time he crawls out of the ditch he was born in, I'll be long gone.

I take Max to the little dance floor in the middle of the restaurant, where they normally house the live dancers. No one's on the floor right now, but there's a violin quartet playing music in the corner. I take a look at Max and find that she looks hesitant, maybe even a little afraid. But as I slowly nudge her onto the floor, she smiles nervously at me.

"What're we doing?"

"Dancing," I say, taking her arms and placing them around my neck. I feel a slight electric pulse as her arms wrap around my neck.

"Henri, everyone's looking at us." Max whispers in my ear as we slowly revolve on the spot.

"Let them." I say. "Maybe they'll join us."

Indeed, as soon as the violin-playing quartet sees us on the dance floor, they immediately strike up a more dancey tune and I twirl Max effortlessly. She laughs. "This is so wild!"

"You think so?" I ask. I lower my voice so as to not be heard over the violins. "So why have you been so afraid to put yourself out there?"

Max shrugs. "I just… I feel so _boring_, you know? I've never done anything exciting in my life. I haven't gone out of the country, I haven't learned to speak another language, I haven't gone bungee jumping or sky-diving at all... I haven't done anything worthwhile. And I feel like that's why boys seem to go the opposite direction, you know, because behind my _looks_" –she gives me a half-smile –"there's really nothing. I wish I could travel the world, experience everything there is to offer, you know?"

"You want to come out of your shell," I say. "I get it. And what better way to start than by dancing in the middle of a fancy restaurant? Your hair's almost in that girl's food, by the way."

…

_MAX POV_

Henri pulls me out of harm's way and I let myself fall into the motions. Dancing's not so hard, anyway. It's just two steps this way, two that way, and a twirl every so often. I'm so lost in my thoughts that I almost miss what Henri's saying to me. "You said you wanted to travel the world?"

"Yeah." I say.

"When were you planning to do that?"

I shrug, which is hard to do when your arms are around somebody's neck. I hope I'm not choking him. "I dunno." I say thoughtfully. "Maybe after college or something."

He nods. "Okay. I was just asking because after college, you're going to get a job, and then you'll get married and have kids, and you'll never be able to. If you're going to do it, do it now. Seize the moment."

"Seize the moment?"

"You had to bully yourself to come here, didn't you?" I look into his eyes, those dark eyes that you could totally get lost in, and I find myself unable to answer.

But the lucky thing is, I don't have to. My contact's just fallen out.

I hastily excuse myself and push Henri's warm arms of my waist, hurrying to the restroom and blinking madly. Crap crap crap. These freaking things cost me two hundred dollars and I am _not_ letting them get the better of me.

…

Gazzy, Nudge, and Iggy were hurrying down the crowded Seattle streets. The air was cold but none of them were shivering from cold. From fear, was more likely.

"Where did that damn boy go?" Nudge growled, creating little puffs of smoke in the air with her breath. "That Eraser was calling for reinforcements! They'll be on us at any moment!"

"Maybe they want peace," Gazzy suggested breathlessly. "I mean, why would I.C.E. sic a bunch of Erasers on us _after_ we agreed to do a mission for them?"

He was leading Iggy by the arm so as not to make him bump into anything because of his blindness. "You now, I've been thinking." Iggy remarked. "They retired all the Erasers, right? So where the hell did this one come from?"

"Your ass," Nudge snapped. Her nerves were stretched to the breaking point. "I can't believe Fang would desert us like this! Go for a walk, what a douchebag!" She slowed down her power walk and the other two boys bumped into her. She turned around to frown at them. "Face it, guys. We suck at fighting. I haven't had to pick up a chair in almost four years. We're not coordinated."

"So we're screwed," Iggy muttered. "Thank me for my bluntness."

Nudge didn't respond to the idiot's latest wisecrack. Her eyes were widening at the sight behind the boys. Two –no, three –no, actually, half a dozen men in similar brown army jackets and jeans had suddenly appeared at the end of the street were bulldozing through the crowd, heading straight for them. Her heart began to beat as fast as a hummingbird's on steroids. "They found us," she whispered.

"Fuck." Gazzy said, turning around to look at them. "We're fucked."

The three of them broke into a run, Gazzy leading Iggy by the arm. Nudge, in the lead, dove into an alleyway and the boys followed suit. The three of them crouched behind a conveniently placed large dumpster. "Okay guys, fight or flight?" Iggy asked them.

"Without Fang, we're gonna have to flight."

"Flight? As in, take off?"

"Flight, huh? Look, it's my three favorite Avian-American hybrids." said a horribly familiar voice.

They winced and looked up slowly to find the most ghastly sight possible standing on top of the dumpster. Nudge gasped, Iggy winced, and Gazzy unfortunately chose that moment to let one of his signature scents rip.

The Eraser leered at them. "Hello, old pals. Long time, no _kill_."

"Let's run." Iggy said.

…

_MAX POV_

I blink and blink and I blink some more. The stupid contact's not going in my eye –what am I supposed to do, walk around half-blind? I decide to try one more time and end up nearly poking my eye out instead. "Ow!" I yell, hopping around the bathroom, eye watering. _Thankfully_ no one's entered the bathroom in the last five minutes.

I finally manage to jab the stupid thing in my eye only to find that it's messed my eyeliner all up. Fuck, now I have to redo my makeup!

It's been at least ten minutes since I've been in the restroom. I hope Henri's not bored.

…

_FANG POV_

It has been at least ten minutes since Max went into the bathroom. I hope she hasn't climbed out of the window or anything. I also hope Nudge, Gazzy, and Iggy are okay. I didn't tell them about my little detour, but I figure nothing bad can happen to them, right? I mean, we're working for the I.C.E. now, right? Nothing can hurt us, right?

I settle back in the booth and examine my reflection in the back of a spoon. Hmm. My hair could do with a bit sprucing up. Nudge's actually right, I do kind of look emo. Maybe I should get a haircut. Yeah. I think I will.

It's pleasantly quiet in the restaurant, with all the couples quietly keeping to themselves. After Max left for the bathroom, the violin quartet regressed to playing slow serenades again. All's fine and good.

CRASH. I look outside the window to find three people running furiously down the street, and one of them's just knocked over a trashcan. My heart leaps into my throat as I recognize those people. A blond, a redhead, and a brunette.

What're they doing here? I stare at the flock as Gazzy looks up, makes eye contact with me, and starts to make a beeline for the restaurant. He throws the door open and races up to me, Nudge and Iggy trailing behind.

"Erasers… being chased… no time…" he wheezes.

My sense of foreboding increases. "Huh? Erasers?"

Nudge shoves past Gazzy and fixes me with her most smoldering glare. "Ohmygodyoustupidfreakingturdyoudecidedtogoona_date_withouttellingusandinthemeantimeErasersstartedattackingusandwhatthehell!" She pants heavily at the end of this sentence.

"How much time do we have?" I ask them, desperately looking for an escape route. This restaurant is _not_ where I'd want to have a battle with the Erasers. Just as the words escape my lips, the windows crash open and several people scream. About half a dozen Erasers, fully morphed, leap in and I grimace.

"So, about zero seconds, then." Iggy says.

The biggest and ugliest one pushes his way to the front. He looks really familiar and I can't put my finger on where I've seen him before. "Hello, Fang," he spits. "Ready to die?"

"Ready when you are, man." I say amicably, rolling up my sleeves.

Max, take your time in the bathroom, please. This will get very ugly very fast. And since this probably isn't going to work out between us, it's not you, it's me.

* * *

**Okay, so here's how this chapter is going to go:**

**_Italic_ is Max.**

**Normal is Fang.**

* * *

_I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, fingering my hair. What would I look like with dark red hair, maybe? And what if I cut my hair short? I had always had boring, shoulder-length blonde hair, but Henri got me thinking that it was definitely time for a change._

I feel like time stops. Maybe it's just because about ten times more blood's rushing to my head than usual. I wait for a moment, sizing the Eraser up, and then he charges at me like a freight train carrying nothing but elephant dung. Nudge screams as he takes a swipe at my chest with his huge, scissor-like wolf claws but I sidestep it easily. Erasers are clumsy attackers. All offense and no defense. If they made up a football team, they would so _lose_.

_Speaking of Henri… am I even ready for this? Am I even ready to start dating someone I don't even know? He could be an axe murderer, for all I know._

I grin as the Eraser flails his arms with all the momentum and crashes into a nearby table, causing all the innocent restaurateurs to scream in horror. He spits out a bloody, three-inch long tooth and glares at me. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Nudge, Gazzy, and Iggy holding their own against the other wolf guys. They're good fighters. I'm not worried about them. But, as I see my own Eraser charging at me like Armageddon, I feel the slightest bit worried about myself.

_Okay, yeah, I know that's stupid. There's no way he's an axe murderer, He's just a normal, honest-to-goodness college boy._

I grab the Eraser's arm and attempt to flip him over, but instead I succeed in yanking out a few of his soft underarm hairs. He roars in pain and socks me hard in the gut. The force of his punch hits me like a sack of concrete bricks straight to the sweet spot. I wheeze and stagger backward, vision going in and out of focus. Holy shit, they're stronger than before.

_But he' so _hot_… How can I even have doubts about starting a relationship with him?_

All right, maybe this won't be that easy. I duck as the wolf-man aims another super-charged blow at my head, which would've split my skull open like a watermelon if I hadn't dodged it. I tackle the Eraser around the waist and send him crashing towards the ground, splintering yet another table. Oops.

_I hear a loud crash outside the bathroom door and smirk. A waiter must have dropped a plate, one of those thousand dollar ones. They're getting fired for sure. I'm so glad I don't work in a fancy place like this._

I see Nudge fighting valiantly, using her amazing dodging skills to jab and not be jabbed. However, she's not particularly powerful, and her hits are making her Eraser angrier than actually hurt. I see Gazzy shaking up and throwing miniature Molotov cocktails at the Erasers, which succeed in blowing up the vases on the tables if not anything else. Iggy's hiding behind an overturned table, fiddling with some wires. He stands up, takes careful (blind) aim, and yells, "Heads up!" I dive to the side just as the bomb hits the wall and blows up, leaving a huge hole in the side of the wall. In the distance, I hear police sirens.

_Okay, Max. Ignore the noises outside. Let's make a pros and cons list, shall we?_

I grab the nearest utensil from a table, thinking it'll be a large breadknife, but it's actually a salad fork. I curse fluently and jam the fork as hard as I can into the Eraser's hairy arm, causing it to howl with pain and anger.

_Pro: he's so hot…_

Jabbing, kicking, punching every inch of the hairy thing in front of me. He takes a swipe at my face and I can feel blood trickle down my cheek. I don't know what's happening. They're not supposed to be this strong. Or this powerful.

_Con: …I'll get back to this one… Man, there must be a new waiter out there or something. They sure are dropping a lot of stuff._

Panting, I back into a corner of the restaurant, close to the hole in the wall. Nudge has given up on jabbing and has retreated to hide behind the same table as Iggy, who has run out of homemade bombs. Gazzy's hiding in close proximity to them. The Erasers are closing in on the three of them. Panicking, I do the only thing that makes sense.

_Pro: he's so romantic. Spontaneously dancing on the floor like that… it was perfect._

"Hey!" I yell, grabbing the nearest plate I can find and hurling it at one of the Eraser's hairy backs. "You fucktard!"

_Pro: he totally gets me._

"Yeah, you little pieces of shit!" I yell, trying to draw their attention away from the flock. "You wanna fight? Well, I'll give you a real fight!" I spit a bloody tooth out and wince. Hope that wasn't a molar.

_Pro: he's literally the most sensitive, kind guy I've ever met._

"Get your asses over here and I'll show you how to fight like a man, not like a five-year-old girl with pneumonia!" Surprisingly, my trash-talking is working. The snarling pack of Erasers is advancing toward me, and I motion furiously for the others to get out. Nudge shakes her head to signify no, they're not leaving me behind, but they know they'll get killed. Iggy drags her out and I back up against the wall, heart pumping, as the Erasers all form a sort of semicircle around me. I'm completely surrounded.

_I mean, I can't even imagine Henri doing anything violent. He's such a sensible guy. He probably spends all his free time watching HGTV or playing tennis._

"Hey, fellas," I say, feeling around the nearest table until I feel a knife. "We're all friends here, right? I mean, us fellow mutants have to stick together. Those bad guys aren't going to arrest themselves, am I right?" I lightly punch one of the closest Erasers in a joking manner. He snarls at me.

_How long have I even been in here? Oh my God, I'm an idiot for keeping him waiting for this long! I am such an idiot!_

"It's your time to die, Fang," the one in the front, which seems to be the leader, snarls at me. I hide the knife behind my back. "Did you really think you'd be able to escape the School unnoticed, four years ago? Think again. The Director never forgets_anything_."

"That's funny, because the last time I checked, we were pretty free and escaped," I snarl back. Quick as a flash, I whip the knife out and slash one Eraser's muzzle, stab one in the leg, and kick the third in the stomach as hard as I can. But even I'm no match for four Erasers with only a knife on my side. A claw shoots out and grazes my side, and I drop the knife in the white-hot pain. A second crushing blow to my neck, and I drop like a stone towards the ground.

This is it, then. I only wish I didn't have to die so close to a rotten bowl of spaghetti on the floor. The smell's really getting to me. As the first Eraser raises his claw for the kill, I think about Nudge, Gazzy, and Iggy. Hopefully they're safe. And hopefully they'll continue the mission without me. I think about Angel, who I hadn't even had a chance to meet before all hell broke loose. And I think about Max. Beautiful, vivacious Max.

I _really_ hope I die before she comes out of the bathroom.

Coughing up blood, I stare directly into the Eraser's eyes. I'm going to die like a man. Even as his claws move towards me, an enormous, white box soars through the air at max speed and crashes into the Erasers, knocking them clean off their feet. Clutching my stomach, I squint to see that my knight in shining armor is… a fridge.

I manage to pull myself into a sitting position and stare at the hole through the wall. Through my haze of pain it kind of looks like an angel of death is standing there, white wings spread out to their full wingspan of 15 feet, blond hair flying in all directions, face grimy and streaked with blood…

Hang on.

The figure smirks at me. "You call yourself a leader of the flock?"

All I can manage is, "Huh?"

My savior flies –yes, flies down to the ground. The figure walks over to me and stands over me, crossing its arms. "All these years, and you're still all talk. You can't even find me by yourselves. I have to follow you _and_ save your sorry asses."

I squint up at the figure and my eyes widen. "Angel?"

She smirks. "In the flesh, Emo Boy."

The full impact of my injuries hits me. "Help me up." I grunt. Angel seizes my arms and heaves me up. I grab the nearby table –one of the only ones left standing –for support. "We need to get out of here."

"No shit."

"No, really," I look over my shoulder at the bathroom door, which is slowly opening. "I need to get out of here _right now_."

…

MAX POV

Okay, I know what I'm going to do. I'm going to march out there, own it, and tell Henri Brewer that I want to see him next Friday. I can do this. I can totally do this. It's not like I'm being asked to, I don't know, fight a bunch of werewolves or anything. How crazy is that?

I grin and look at my reflection in the mirror one last time. I look _great_. I push open the bathroom door…

And I nearly faint.

"What –what happened to the restaurant?!" I ask a nearby waiter hysterically. He looks at me, terrified.

"Miss… your boyfriend and some of his friends completely tore up the place! It was a full-out brawl! And they just left! Please, I beg you, _please _choose your blind dates more carefully!"

I stand there, unable to comprehend the mass destruction that happened. My shock has kind of gone down, and I feel anger begin to course through my veins. "He… he just _left_? Aargh, I can't _believe_ him!" Is this what happens when I put myself out there? I end up dating a complete axe murderer!

"Miss?" the waiter asks me tentatively.

"What?" I snarl, looking at the guy.

He holds out a receipt, hands shaking. "This… this is the bill."

I rip it up in his face and stomp out. Police cars are beginning to park in front of the restaurant and I turn the other way to avoid them. I'm stomping on the sidewalk really hard, imagining each time that I'm bringing my foot down on Henri Brewer's perfect face.

I'm not looking where I'm going and I nearly run into someone. "Sorry," I mutter, looking at the guy I've just bumped into. He's about three feet tall, with huge owl-rimmed spectacles and an extremely pimply face.

"That's f-fine," he stutters, blushing. "It was mostly _my_ fault –I'm really late for a date! First my car gets towed, then I fall into a ditch…"

Curiosity gets the better of me. "Like… through eFantasy?"

He nods. "Yeah! How… how did you know?"

"Oh, I just had the most… _interesting _blind date of my life. It was _smashing_, let me tell you. Yeah, a lot more than sparks flew." I grinned ruefully. "What's your name, anyway?"

The boy grins, revealing a mouth full of braces, complete with little food pieces stuck in them. I wince. "Henri Brewer."

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

* * *

**Chapter 8 is done! How smashing!**

* * *

_FANG POV_

"So tell me, Fang," Angel says, as we hurry through the darkening streets of Seattle. "What made you come to Seattle to find me? You failed miserably, by the way."

I grunt. I'd say something scathing, something to put her in her place, but at this point I'm in so much pain that if I open my mouth nothing'll come out except a steady stream of cuss words.

"And, what, you were on a _date_? Classic, Fang, real classic. Can't resist flirting with anything that's got legs and boobs and an ass, right? You're worse than Iggy. But he's blind, so at least we can forgive him for that."

"How d'you know he's blind?" I ask, wincing as pain shoots through my leg. Angel keeps moving, paying no attention to me.

Angel scoffs. "You think I'm stupid? You think you're the only one who's been keeping tabs on the Flock?"

"You never did trust me." I say.

She turns around to look at me and that's when I can finally see how much she's changed. Her face has become more angular, her hair's grown even longer, and she's got that cold, unforgiving look in her eyes that I've never seen before… but then again, I haven't seen her since she was ten. How can someone change so much in four years?

"I'm not the only one that's changed, Fang," Angel mutters, so quietly I'm not sure that I've heard her properly.

"Turn off the mind reading thing once in a while." I grumble. "This is just proof that you never trusted me."

"I would if you gave me a reason to." Angel says. I open my mouth to argue but close it.

"Fair enough," I say, nodding. "Are we gonna stop running soon, because honestly, I'm about to fall over right here on the sidewalk."

…

_MAX POV_

If I ever see that son-of-a-bitch ever again, I'm running him over without hesitation.

I storm into my car and blink back angry tears. What was the point of all that? What was the freaking point of that? To have me put myself out there is one thing. To get completely played is another. This must have been the universe giving me a sign that it's not time for me to be in the dating pool right now –or maybe ever.

I shift my car into drive and start to head towards the freeway, towards the university district. It starts to rain, big honking raindrops smashing against the windshield, and I turn the windshield wipers on. Here in Seattle, you need to keep those going perpetually.

Every speedbump I hit I imagine is his face.

…

_FANG POV_

"Mission X-1," I say quietly. We –that is, Nudge, Angel, Gazzy, Iggy, and I –are in a Ramada Inn (because we wouldn't be allowed anywhere else, looking all beat up like this). I've just explained to Angel what happened with Ericsson. She's reacted quite stoically, if I might say.

"You said we'd get immunity," Angel says. "How can you believe anything that son-of-a-"

"Language," I say smoothly. "You're only fourteen. And I have to believe what he says. Do you want to spend the rest of your life in hiding from the I.C.E.? Even though you think you're all-powerful and smart, they will still catch you eventually. Jeb came to me with a solution. I'm not doing it for him. I'm doing it for us. And so are they." I point to Nudge, Gazzy, and Iggy. "I have a hacker, an expert chemist, and an explosives master."

Iggy clears his throat. "_Ahem._"

"What?" I ask him impatiently.

"Pyro. I prefer to be called a pyro."

"_Fine. _I have a hacker, an expert chemist, and a _pyromaniac_. Now all we need is you." I say, turning my attention back to Angel.

Angel scoffs. "What can I do?"

"You're the… forger."

She smirks. "You were about to say something else."

"No I wasn't!" I say a little too quickly.

"You were about to say _persuader_. 'Cause I can read minds and control them and all that crap. You can't lie to me; I can read your mind, Fang. And I'm not sure how you managed to convince these guys, but I'm happier on my own."

"That's what I thought," Nudge pipes up. "But then we kicked some Eraser butt and I remembered how much I missed running around with you guys. Even if I didn't get to be Spring Fling queen."

Gazzy nods fervently. "Come on, Ange, it'll be like old times. Except not really 'cause we're all older and stuff… but still. Flocks are meant to stay together."

Angel pauses for a good minute or so, clearly thinking this through. It's a shame I can't read _her_ mind, but I can figure out the conflicting emotions in her head. Finally, she says, "I'm going to hate myself, aren't I? Running around with you guys, with _him_as the leader?"

"Maybe in the next Flock election, about a hundred years from now, you can start your campaign," I say sardonically. "Right now, it's not a democracy. It's a Fangocracy. You in or not?"

She sighs, fingers over her eyes. "Yeah, I guess I am. I've already proved that you guys are dead meat without me, anyways."

"Nice," I say, clapping my hands. "Okay, first order of business. We have to get out of here." I stand up and wince. I'm an incredibly fast healer -we all are -but those Eraser scratches hurt like a bitch. "But, uh, I'm going out."

"Oh, no you're not!" Nudge exclaims. "The last time you went 'out', you were flirting with some girl, and we were left to get ambushed by Erasers!"

"It's a Fangocracy," I say simply, opening the hotel door. "Head to bed. We'll need to get up early tomorrow. I'll be back soon."

I hit the streets running. I have to find Max. You know, to make sure she's all right... to make sure the Erasers didn't get her. I'm not completely sure they didn't spot her with me before, and I owe it to her to keep her safe. Since I hijacked her date and everything.

There's a slight problem, though. She's going to try to kill me for leaving her there.

…

_MAX POV_

I can't see anything. All the streetlights are out. I turn on the headlights to the brights and wince as I hit a particularly hard speed bump.

"Stupid… fucking…"

I continue driving even though the rain starts to come down even harder.

"If I see him again, I'm running him over. Don't even care. That's what happens when you mess with –AAAH!"

I swerve the wheel hard to the right to avoid hitting the black human-shaped figure that suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Except I don't do it hard enough, and I end up hitting the person at about thirty miles an hour.

I stop the car and shakily get out. "Oh my God, oh my God…" Did I just kill someone? The person I hit's lying crumpled on the ground, groaning. Okay, so I didn't kill them. But what did I do?

"_Fuck_," the person groans.

I kneel down next to them, hands shaking. "Are you okay? Are you okay? Uh…" I flap my hands up and down in panic. "I'm CPR certified –in seventh grade, at least –"

"Call the fucking cops," the person spits, sitting up. Their hood falls up and my mouth falls open.

"_You_." I say, pausing mid-flap. It's _him_. In the flesh. The boy from the blind date. Not-Henri Brewer.

His eyes widen upon seeing me, and my heart drops to my throat when I see how badly beat-up he is. He's got a black eye, a puffed lip, and something tells me he's got a sprained ankle. Did _I _do all that?

"What did you run me over for?" he asks me indignantly. Some of my fury comes creeping back.

"_Me_? Run _you_ over? You're the one that… blew up the entire freaking restaurant! And you left me there! With the bill! What're you even playing at?" I shriek.

He spits out some blood. "Oy, so I leave you on a blind date and you go and run me over, is that right? What's the big deal? Boys do it all the time!"

"I didn't run you over on _purpose_!" I say shrilly. "It just… happened!"

He opens his mouth to retaliate angrily, but instead a hiss of pain escapes his lips and he clutches his stomach area –no, his rib cage. All anger aside, I kneel down next to him once more. A person in pain deserves help, no matter how much of an asshole he is.

"Your ribs are broken," I say, trying to sound authoritative. In reality, I'm kneeling next to a boy on the corner of the road without a clue of what I'm doing.

He shakes his head. "Not broken. Never broken. Only sprained." He winces in pain.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" I ask him, wringing my hands.

Not-Henri smiles wryly. "Maybe a kiss would make it better –_ow_!" I've just slapped him. "Okay, what is it with you and hurting me?"

"I mean, should I take you to the hospital or something?" I ask him tetchily.

Strangely, he pales. "No. Not the hospital. I'll be fine on my own."

Strange. "What's your real name, anyway?" I ask him. "I know you're not really Henri Brewer. So who are you, and why'd you hijack my date?"

He smirks. "Did you _see_ the real Henri Brewer? I _saved _you, my dear Maxine."

"It's just Max," I growl. "Answer my question."

He exhales. "Well, the only things I lied about were the things on Henri's profile. Everything else I said, I meant. Especially the parts about you being beautiful." He looks at the ground. "My real name is… Nick."

"Nick," I echo, nodding. "Okay. Keep going ,'Nick'."

He looks pained, but continues. "I was born in Montreal, Canada. I'm eighteen years old, and I'm here to take you home."

"Huh?"

He stands up slowly, clutching a nearby street pole for support. "Trust me. You're not safe. I have to help you get home, to make sure..." He trails off. "Is this your car?" He gestures to my Toyota Prius.

I nod, nonplussed. "Listen, weirdo. I can get home by myself-"

He smirks. "Strange, I had you pegged for an Accord. Get in."

"Wait –you can't just drive my car –" I protest.

Nick leans over and easily plucks the keys from my hands. "I can. But before we do that… drink this." He hands me a small bottle filled with clear liquid. I sniff it. It's odorless.

"I'm not drinking this!" I say shrilly. "It's rape 101! Don't drink things strange guys hand you! Give me back my keys!"

He gets into the driver's seat and starts the car. "Get in unless you want to be left here."

I get in, furious. "Is this water?"

Nick glances at me. "Of a sort. You looked really parched from all the yelling you've been doing. Drink up."

Now I'm freaking out. 'Nick' is gorgeous, sure, but that just makes me even more convinced he's a rapist. Why me? Why am I doing this? I could have been back at the dorm, watching Breaking Bad on my laptop... Fuck my life. "You're insane." I yell as he starts the car. "Seriously, stop the car!"

"I'm not stopping," he says, as he merges onto the freeway. I cling on for dear life as he swerves across three lanes of traffic. "It's essential that you drink up."

"Do you even know how to drive?!" I screech. "I'm not drinking it!"

Nick shrugs and takes his hands off the steering wheel. "Okay."

I pale. "What -what're you doing?"

He turns to face me, not even looking at the road. My Prius is going seventy miles an hour on the freeway, and a mad man is driving. Wait -he's not driving. He's not even looking at the road. We're headed straight into a truck. "If I drink it, will you? I'm not going to rape you." He takes a swig from the bottle and thrusts it back into my arms.

"That's exactly what a rapist would say!" I shriek. "Grab the freaking steering wheel!" If he's not a rapist, he most certainly is a suicide bomber. Or a murderer.

Nick smirks. "You know, you're cute when you're all freaked out."

I scream as he jerks the wheel just seconds before we smash into the truck, and I do the stupidest thing I've ever done in my life. I drink up. It tastes like water. Maybe it _is_ water. I throw the bottle back into Nick's lap. "Happy?"

"Very." He keeps his eyes on the road.

I start to feel light-headed and woozy. Hmm… Maybe that _wasn't_ water, after all… "You don't talk much, do you?" I ask him, fighting to remain conscious.

"No. It keeps me alive," he answers.

I don't question what he just said because my vision's going in and out of focus. "You're way better looking than Henri Brewer," I mutter. "He had… _nose hairs_. Ew… And he was itsy-bitsy, like this tall." I hold my thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. "Like that song with the spider. And… and…"

I can't remember what else I say because I pass out.

...

_**FANG POV**_

I wait until I'm sure she's under before I spit out the mouthful of tranquilizing syrup I have in my mouth.

* * *

"How are you feeling, Max?" Ella asks me, smiling kindly over her shoulder while somehow managing to balance fifteen textbooks in her arms.

It's taking all of my strength not to fall over and curl up into a ball right there in the middle of the courtyard. "Unnnngh," I mutter.

"Still hungover?"

I groan. "I guess." How can I explain that I'm not hungover, I'm just… done? With dating, with life, with everything in general? I woke up in bed on Saturday morning, with no idea how I got there, and called in sick from work. And _then _I proceeded to spend the weekend crying in bed because my life is so terrible. But I can't tell Ella any of this. She might be my best friend, but she also can't keep a secret. She still thinks I went out to a movie on Friday night –the hasty lie I made up when she caught me trying to sneak out of the dorm.

"Well… at least it's a new quarter, so we can't have that much homework already, right?" Ella asks me petulantly as we march up the steps to the science building. "And I _really _hope I won't have to carry these for long. My arms feel like they've been smushed in a blender… Hey, where're your books?"

I stare at her in confusion for a few moments. "Huh?"

Ella groans. "Max, your _books_! For the new quarter! I can't believe you've forgotten them, you're gonna be so screwed –"

Oh, right. In the confusion and the mental workout I had over the weekend I had completely forgotten about the new quarter. And consequently, the only things I have in my laptop bag are my charger, my cracked phone (when I threw my phone at the wall in frustration), a packet of Funyuns, and a broken, leaky ballpoint pen.

I don't even have my _laptop_.

Ella huffs. "I'll share with you, but you _know_ how strict Professor ter Borcht is."

"Thanks," I say dazedly as we make our way towards the classroom. Ella looks at me with narrowed eyes.

"You sure you're okay? I mean, you seem really out of it. Even more than usual."

"I'm fine," I say, brushing her off. No _way_ in hell am I telling her the whole truth about what happened. At least, not until I figure some things out for myself first. "I'm just tired. Remind me to never pull an all-nighter again."

"I would, but unfortunately, I'll probably be staying up with you," Ella grins.

"Now c'mon, otherwise we'll get the cruddy seats in the back of the class!" I say, pulling her towards the class at the end of the hallway.

Ella rolls her eyes. "Okay, you're starting to go back to your regular weirdo self. Max, I've told you twenty times –you _want_ to sit in the back so you can sleep or send notes or get away with anything! That's what _normal _kids do!"

…

After I struggle through the first day of Advanced Microbiology, all I want to do is curl up into a ball and sleep for another forty-eight hours. Unfortunately, I have to go to work, because I still have debts to pay, and especially after they sent me the bill from the restaurant last night, I've pretty much guaranteed that I'll have to keep working here until I'm forty and still a virgin.

If I ever see that stupid jerk Nick's face in my life ever again, I am _ripping _his throat out with my _bare hands_. Is Montreal even _in _Canada? Stupid, lying, son-of-a-bitch –

"_Max_," Matt hisses from the back, where he's busy polishing the cappuccino maker. I look up to see a little old lady staring at me, her mouth slightly open.

"Sorry," I mutter, my face turning red. I hadn't realized I was talking out _loud_. I hand her what she ordered –green tea, a classic for people over eighty –and press both my hands to my temples.

"Rough day?" Matt asks me sympathetically.

I grin ruefully. "You could say that. I have no idea what I'm doing with my life. My love life is a sham, I think I flunked out of Advanced Microbiology on the first day because I forgot my books, and the Seahawks lost the Super Bowl. _And _I have a hockey game next week." I added as an afterthought.

Matt whistles. "That's a tall stack of problems. I know what would help." He reaches into the display case, where we keep all our 'homemade' goodies, like pound cakes and vegetable wraps, and pulls out a bunch of chocolate chip cookies. "A tall stack of cookies."

I inhale the scent deeply. They _do _smell good… although not really the quality that Ella's mom makes. But I take one look at Matt's smiling face and relent. "Fine. Okay."

It's a slow Monday evening, so Matt and I retire to one of the tables facing the street outside. It's only when I take a tentative bite of the first cookie that I realize that I'm famished. I haven't had anything to eat except Gatorade and Tylenol over the weekend. So I cram the entire cookie in my mouth and get started on a second one before I realize. "We hafta pay fer thish?" I manage, my mouth full.

Matt grins at me. "What?"

I swallow painfully. "We have to pay for this –I just realized." Man, _why_ did I have to binge-eat the most expensive cookies in the world?

He shakes his head, grinning. "Nah, it's all on me."

"You sure?" I ask him. I've only known this guy for a few weeks, and I'm not sure I like the idea of having my clumsy coworker buy me a billion cookies.

"Yeah. Consider it a date."

I stare at him, a bit of cookie falling out of my mouth. "A _date_?"

Matt blushes slightly. "I mean, if you want to. Only if you want to. Because I… well… I like you, okay? You're nice, and funny, and you look good with or without glasses, which I'm sure you've heard before but it's true, and –"

I don't hear anything else that Matt says because I swear I just saw a flash of a black leather jacket outside the window… But it can't be. This is _Seattle_. There are probably thousands of people here with leather jackets. Hell, there are probably _millions_.

I tear my eyes away from the window and look back at Matt, who has finished his awkward speech and is looking at me as if he wants me to say something. "Listen, Matt…" I say distractedly, my eyes flitting back to the window as I see another flash of the same leather jacket, this time accompanied by a flash of black hair. I must be hallucinating. "I like you too, but I really don't think I should be dating for a while. I mean… it's not you, it's… well, it's not _me_ either, is it? It's other cruddy guys who think they can act all attractive and jack your blind date and completely leave you in the _dust_ while they destroy restaurants… and then you run them over with your car and then… and then…"

I watch as the shadow of the black-haired person disappears into the alleyway across the street. In the shadows I can't be completely sure that it's _him_, but I'm still curious.

And I'm still furious.

Matt looks at his hands. "Oh. Okay. I get it… well, not really, but I guess we'd better go back to work, huh?" He points to the door, which jingles as a couple of buff guys, maybe in their mid-thirties, come in and sit down at one of the empty tables. I nod and we return to behind the counter, where Matt resumes polishing the cappuccino maker, his ears tinged red, and I wipe the cookie crumbs from the corners of my mouth. The guys at the table in the corner are whispering to each other and looking at me weirdly. And the boy with the leather jacket's completely disappeared from my view.

The shop's empty except for me, Matt, and these guys. For some reason, they unnerve me. But I stand my ground as the bulkier of the two comes over to me and says, in a much gruffer voice than I was expecting, "Two lattes, hold the cream and milk."

"Of course," I say calmly. I hand them the coffees and they retreat back to their spot in the corner. Both of them seem to be staring out the window, same as me. And it's really quiet in here, dead quiet, for a few moments.

Then I see him through the window. Him. There's no mistaking it –it's him. He looks through the window, sees the two guys sitting at the table, and his eyes widen. And then the son-of-a-bitch proceeds to open the door to Joan's and enter to the one place where he is most certainly _not _welcome.

"Matt," I hiss. "Take the till over from me."

"Why?" He looks at Nick and looks back at me. "Do you know him?"

"Do I know him? Yes. Do I want him here? _Hell no_. Just take over the till, okay?"

Matt shrugs, but he doesn't move fast enough, and Nick reaches the counter well before Matt manages to pick up his sponges and rags and get his ass over here. He leans against the counter and I resist the urge to sock him in the face. "Hello, sweetheart."

"Get the fuck out," I growl.

Nick winces and takes his sunglasses off. "Believe me, I'd love to. I had no idea you worked in such a… well, if it pays the bills…"

Asshole. _Asshole_. "Get out before I have Matt throw you out," I snarl.

Nick takes one glance at bony, awkward, clumsy Matt, and gives me a wan smile. "I'll take my chances."

"Order something, then. You can't just loiter in here. That's illegal."

Nick squints at the board. "Pumpkin surprise? White chocolate frappuchino? Caramel honey twist? This is _coffee_? No wonder you don't have more customers. Get me a black coffee. No additions, no nothing. Just pure, black, coffee."

"Yes, your idiotness," I say, filling a plastic cup up with liquid from the cappuccino machine and practically shoving it at him. "Now pay me and get out."

The two guys in the corner aren't even sipping their coffee. They're just watching us. Bet this is better than _Days of Our Lives_ for them. And because Nick's job in life is apparently to do the exact opposite of whatever I say, he pulls up a stool and sits right in front of me. He takes a sip of the coffee and shudders. "Damn, that's disgusting. Believe me, if I had a choice, I would be anywhere but here."

"So get out. No one's stopping you," I snarl.

"I get it. You hate me because I pretended to be Henri Brewer and I lied to you and ruined your night and all that crap… but have you _seen_ the guy? I have done you an enormous favor, Maxine Ride… and if I'm being honest, I had fun. And you had fun."

"You blew up the entire restaurant and left _ME_ with the bill!" I practically scream at him, and the guys in the corner start whispering to each other again. "Listen, pal, I don't care if you have swishy hair and a fancy leather jacket and an ego to match Kanye West's. You're clearly involved in some drug-trade bullshit or something, and I don't want any of it. So please, walk out the way you came, and never come near me again, so I never have to talk to you."

Nick winces. "The bill has been… taken care of. And, as much as I would love to, I can't leave."

"Why the hell not?"

Nick takes another sip of his coffee and makes a face. "Well, do you have somewhere we can talk privately?"

"I am _not _even going three feet with you after what you –"

"Okay –I jacked your blind date. Stop being so butthurt about it, jeez, woman! There are much bigger things at stake!" He practically yells this in my face and winces, looking back at the two guys still sitting in the corner. "Just –do you have a private place?"

"I've got the kitchen," I say grudgingly.

"Fine. Let's go. Nice meeting you, Mark," Nick says, nodding to an extremely confused Matt.

I lead the way into the kitchen and as soon as Nick enters behind me he closes the door and locks it.

"Hey, what gives –"

"Listen to me. I've got good news and bad news. The good news is that this coffee is terrible and if I were your boss, I'd fire you immediately."

"How is that good?" I splutter. "The coffee thing?"

Nick smirks. "Hmm? Oh, it's good because the knowledge that you're not a good barista will soften the more bad news I was just about to tell you." He pauses and takes another excruciatingly long sip of coffee, shuddering. "Damn, that's horrible –"

I smack the coffee out of his hand, causing it to splatter all over the ground. "Forget the damn coffee! What's the bad news?"

He smirks. "You're in moral peril because the Erasers have seen you talking to me and they assume we're friends or something –which we're not, don't get any ideas –but, still, you're going to have to quit your job and come with me if you want to live. But the good news is, since you're so bad at making coffee, no one will miss you anyway, right?"

I don't understand a word he just said. "What –wait, what? Mortal peril? Erasers? What the hell are –what the hell are _Erasers_?"

"I understand. You're in a state of shock, which I totally get. You have no idea what I'm talking about, and that's okay. I just need you to understand that if you don't come with me, you're dead as a –AARGH!"

Something sharp crashes through the kitchen door, whizzes past Nick's head, missing it by inches, and impales itself in the bag of imported coffee beans from Peru next to me, an inch from my face. As I stare at it, I realize it's a… a claw.

"Get down!" Nick yells, plowing into me. The door crashes open and I can just barely catch a glimpse of Matt, lying on the ground, apparently knocked out, before my vision is completely obscured by the two guys who were spying on us the whole time. Except… they're not normal guys anymore… they're growing taller and wider and growing _hair _everywhere –it's worse than the time my dad did No-Shave November. And their teeth are growing as well…

Friggin' hell, they're turning into _wolves_. I must be hallucinating.

Nick stands up and positions himself in front of me, presumably to shield me from harm from these werewolf-thingies. "I thought we beat your asses on Friday," he says evenly, rolling up the sleeves of his jacket.

The bulkier wolf-thing, the one who ordered the coffee, laughs in a horrible, wicked way. "The Director has sent replacements, Fang. She has thousands of us at her disposal."

"And we were sent here to dispose of _you_," the other one said.

I have no idea what's happening. Who –what are these wolf-things? Why does Nick know them? Why are they calling him _Fang_ –what kind of stupid name is that for a person? Who's the Director? Are there really _thousands _of these wolf-things?

Are we gonna die?

"The Director doesn't know that I'm on a mission." Nick –or Fang –says in that same even tone, while I'm scrunched up in the corner trying my best not to look like wolf meat. "So I think it would be best if you let me and the girl get on our way."

"The Director knows _everything_, Fang. And she is _not_ happy that her most successful experiment is starting a renegade mission behind her back."

Fang pretends to blush. "Aww… did she really call me her most successful experiment? How sweet of her. Maybe I'll send her your heads on a silver platter, just as a thank-you for that wonderful compliment."

The wolf-things snarl. "You'll never beat us, Fang."

"Watch me."

And then the scariest thing that I've ever seen happen in my life happens. Both wolf-things throw themselves at Nick –Fang –at the same time, and he goes down under a mountain of flailing claws and teeth. I scream, because what the hell am I supposed to do, and Fang gives a huge grunt as he manages to throw the things off of him with extreme superhuman strength that is just not possible.

Wolf 1 heads towards Fang with murder in his eyes, but just when he gets close enough to strike, Fang feints a blow and comes up behind the thing, giving it a karate chop to the back of the neck. In the meantime, Wolf 2 finally gets up from where Fang threw him, and manages to punch Fang in the stomach.

I have to throw up. This is Mission: Impossible, in real life.

Fang spits blood out of his mouth and attacks the wolf-things. But even though he's Jackie Chan mixed with Chuck Norris, he's not a match for a couple of feral wolf-beings who are three times his width and almost twice his height. And soon, they've pinned him down to the ground, the larger of the two wolves raising his claw to slice Fang's chest open –

_CLANG_.

Fang's mouth opens slightly as the wolf's eyes cross and he falls to the ground, unmoving. Before Fang can even say anything I've knocked out the other one with the cappuccino maker as well.

I _knew_ that was useful for something other than making cruddy coffee.

Fang gets up to his feet and winces as he spits blood out into his hands. He's got a black eye and a couple of bruises, but other than that, he looks like a male model, and not at all like he just fought a death battle with a couple of werewolves that look more like they originated from hell than Twilight. "Thanks," he grunts.

I look down at the unconscious wolf-things. "I'm gonna be so fired," I whimper, seeing the damage done to the kitchen.

"Believe me, that's the least of your problems," Fang says, trying to take my arm and lead me out of the kitchen. I yank it out of his grip.

"What the hell are you doing?" I hiss.

"Why do you always assume I'm attempting to feel you up?" Fang hisses.

"I'm not going anywhere with you. I just knocked out two werewolf-things –"

"Erasers."

"–and I'm gonna be fired for _sure_, and we should the cops, and I'm going to go to jail, and _you're an ass_!"

"Max!" Fang yells. "Calm down!"

"I can't calm down –how do you expect me to calm down?!" I yell shrilly. "My coworker is lying on the floor unconscious, and so are two other Erasers who tried to kill you! And what's this about a Director, and experiments, and a mission, and what the hell are you sticking into my arm?"

"Shh," Fang whispers, looking intently into my eyes. "It's just a calming solution."

I can feel my heartrate reducing and my head start to pulse less. After a few moments, I feel completely level-headed… which makes me wonder what's in the drug he's sticking back in his pocket.

"Your name is Fang?" I ask.

He winces. "I was born Nicholas Walker. My friends call me Fang."

"Those guys back there didn't look like your friends," I say shakily.

"Trust me, they're not."

"I have to come with you, don't I?" I ask him.

Fang shrugs. "You'll die if you don't. Exhibit A," he says, gesturing to the kitchen door.

"Then tell me this," I say. "Am I going to die?"

Fang shakes his head. "No. Not if I can help it."

I nod. "Okay."

"We should get out of here."

"You have to explain everything to me," I say to him as he opens the back door for us to slip out, unnoticed.

"I will." He says, reaching his hand out. I hesitate for a moment. I could eject his hand, right now, and pretend nothing happened. How can I trust this nut job, anyway? This could all be an elaborate hoax to rob me of my money –which is a _joke_, because I have no money or assets, except my old lemon of a car. But… there's also the possibility that if I stay, I die… and that in itself is enough to make me wish I had never stolen that piece of candy from Mr. Richard's store when I was a kid. I never even got to make amends.

"Max," Fang says urgently, as if he can read minds and sense my hesitation. "You _have _to come with me."

I can hear police sirens in the distance. Someone must've called the cops already. We don't have much time.

I've always been looking for adventure. I've always been thought of as boring, and bookish, and shy, and quiet.

If I take his hand, I could have the adventure of a lifetime.

I could also die. The fact that some strange boy promised me he would try to protect me doesn't mean shit. I have no idea what I'm getting into here, and that scares me, I'll admit it.

But I've always been looking for adventure.

And something tells me if I take Fang's hand, I'll never be short of adventure in my life ever again.

So I reach for his hand, which clasps firmly around mine. Callused, strong, and somewhat of a reassurance in this whirlwind of new information and craziness.

I take his hand, and we run.

* * *

**Okay, so I know I said that this was going to be on hiatus, but like I always say, there's no time like the present to pick up an old story that you've been purposely neglecting for four months because you were rereading it recently and you fell in love with the plotline all over again.**

**Trust me, I _always_ say that.**

**Anyways, what did you guys think? I hate to be that person that has to ask for reviews, but please let me know if it was good, bad, ugly, too short, long, whatever... I can confidently say, after 10 chapters and 26,000+ words, the main plot will be moving forward, and all those lovely things that I've managed to confuse you and Max with will start to make sense.**

* * *

_Hey Max, it's me, Ella. Uh, where the hell are you? I've been waiting outside the dorm for an hour and it's locked, and you're not in it, and you promised you'd go shopping with me today! Uh, call me back whenever you get the chance. I also sent you, like, twenty-seven text messages, so yeah. Call me back soon –_

Ari glared at the cracked phone sitting on the counter of the coffee shop, its voicemail light glowing, and slammed his fist onto it, smashing it into hundreds of tiny little unusable pieces. He turned around and looked at his fellow Erasers, who were looking at him warily. "Ari…"

"How could you let him escape?" Ari growled, staring at the two Erasers he had found locked in the kitchen closet, with bumps the size of coffee mugs on their foreheads. "You worthless pieces of junk! I should have you put down for this."

The first Eraser cleared his throat. "It wasn't our fault –there was a girl with him, a girl we'd never seen before –"

"Shut up, Jackson." Ari growled at the larger of the two Erasers, and he shut up. "You expect me to be satisfied with the fact that one _human_ girl was able to knock you both out? What are you, four?"

Jackson opened his mouth. "Um, actually, yes –"

"SHUT UP!" Ari yelled, turning around to glare daggers at the two Erasers standing behind him. "I can't deal with you right now. Both of you. Get out of my sight. The police'll be here any minute."

Jackson and the other Eraser all but ran for the door, while the police sirens got louder and louder. Ari walked over to the kitchen door and surveyed the scene with distaste. There was a broken cappuccino machine lying on the ground, along with a small pool of still-fresh blood. The air smelled like overpriced coffee beans with a slightly metallic tinge. Ari stuck a clawed finger into the pool of blood and lifted it to his enhanced snout, his nose nearly touching the red.

He inhaled deeply and smiled evilly. He _always_ got his target –it was why he was considered the best Eraser the Director had ever had.

And right now, his next target was Fang.

…

_FANG POV_

I pull Max along the busy, wet streets of Seattle as fast as I can. Because she's 100% human, she doesn't have the mutant speed that I would like to be moving at, but we're going fast nonetheless. Good to know she can keep up… to some extent.

But even as I think this, after a few minutes, she starts to breathe heavily and clutch a stitch in her chest. "We _need –_to stop –you're crazy!" she gasps, and I concede.

I pull her into an alleyway between a Macy's and an Abercrombie and pull her against the grimy wall. It's quiet except for the sound of Max's puffing, and I cock my ears, waiting for a telltale growl or a grunt that would mean the Erasers were right on top of us.

"I didn't sign up for this," Max says, breathing heavily.

"You can run," I say, mildly impressed. "Where'd you pick up the speed?"

She shakes her head and yanks her arm from my grip. "Oh, no. _You're_ asking _me_ questions? You said you would explain everything to me!"

"Erm… now's not really the time, since we're being chased by feral Erasers," I said lamely, checking the crowded intersection for any tell-tale signs of the uszhe, you know, people bursting into wolves and all that.

"There's that word again! What the hell even are Erasers?! What the hell's going on? Who are you?!" Max shouts.

I pull the tiny bottle from my pocket and stare at it. Gazzy's self-proclaimed Never Fail Calming Solution (one part orange juice, three parts vodka) is failing right about now.

"You know what, I've changed my mind. I can't do this. I can't run around with you without knowing if you're a –I dunno, a sex predator, or something –"

"You think I'm a sex predator?" I ask her incredulously, still scanning the busy road for people. Across the street there's a small stone square with a horde of homeless people congregating on the steps, but none of them look particularly hairy. At least, not hairier than most homeless people.

"I don't have money –I'm a college student! My only asset is my hunk-of-junk of a car! And people like you don't usually talk to people like me, so forgive me if I'm a bit hesitant after those wolf-things nearly ripped you apart!"

Shit. _Shit_. There's a familiar furry head in the distance, past the Westlake Center, taller than the crowd. He's got his hood up, but I can smell him from a mile away. It's not that I have an enhanced nose or anything–the guy reeks like he hasn't showered once in his life. I can't do this right now. "We gotta go," I say to Max. "I hope you've caught your breath. You must have, if you can start screaming at me like that."

She flips me the bird, but follows me down the alleyway and onto the sidewalk on the other end, where a trolley is loading passengers at the end of the street. I pull Max down the road, dodging a street guitar player who looks suspiciously like Elton John and signs advertising Starbucks, and we manage to haul ourselves onto the trolley. I'm hoping we blend in with the group of winter-coat wearing, coffee-chugging, Seahawks worshippers. Just your average Seattleites.

The trolley starts tooting its horn and we start moving down the street slowly. When we're a safe distance away, I exhale and slump down in my seat. "Okay. We're safe… for now."

"Good. Then would you mind loosening your grip on my hand? It's like you have superhuman strength or something."

I give an odd chuckle and let go of her hand. I hadn't realized I was still holding it. "Or something."

"I want answers, 'Fang'," she says, putting air quotes around my name.

"What do you want to know?" I ask her finally, looking at her.

She crosses her arms. "Well, everything you've said to me so far has been a lie, so the truth would be nice. Who do you work for? Why are bad werewolves after you? Are you a vampire?"

"This isn't Twilight," I say, and in my defense, the only reason I know about that is that Nudge used to be obsessed with those books. "And the only lie I've told you is pretending to be your blind date. I really was born in Montreal, Canada. I am eighteen years old. My real name really is –" I hush my voice and look around before continuing – "Nicholas Walker. I'd show you my birth certificate, but sadly, I don't carry it around with me."

She doesn't look convinced. "Why are those things after you?"

"Because I'm on a mission and they don't like it."

"Who's the Director? And what is she directing? Methheads like you?"

"Hey, I've got a question for you. What did you mean when you said that people like me don't generally talk to people like you?"

Max splutters. "Nothing, I just… I mean, you lead a pretty unconventional lifestyle, and I lead a normal one, and people like you and me, our paths don't really cross, so…" she trails off, looking redder than a bottle of stale tomato ketchup. "I'm going to, um… look out the window." And she stands up and pushes past a gaggle of tourists all staring at the waterfront like they've never smelled the tantalizing smell of rotten fish guts before.

Before I can grill her more, however, my thoughts get interrupted as the phone in my back pocket starts ringing. I groan as I see the caller ID.

"How's my favorite little mind reader?"

"You're my favorite, too, Fang. Not."

"Shut up Angel," I whisper. "And what the hell do you want? I'm coming as fast as I can."

"We're all packed and ready, just like you told us to be. And I just want you to know that since you're the dumbass who told Gazzy he could eat as much Taco Bell as he wanted for dinner last night, the stink's getting _unbearable_."

"I had to take care of some stuff."

"What, like brushing your hair a thousand times?"

"I've got a tail on me, and I'm trying to shake it off. Hey –what if they're tracking this call? Who's the dumbass now?"

I hear snorting on the other end. "You underestimate Nudge's technical skills, Fang."

I smirk. "I think I'd underestimate anyone who's legally binding name is Tiffany Crystal Maria Orange Butterfly."

"That's Tiffani, with an _I,_" Nudge says in the background, and I grin.

"Don't worry –I'll be there real soon." I close the phone and look up –the trolley is passing the waterfront now. It chugs along at the breakneck speed of about ten miles an hour until it starts slowing right in front of the waterfront Ferris wheel, its next stop. I look around for Max before finding her clutching a pole. "Hey –we should get off," I tell her.

She's looking out the window, and I follow her gaze. "You know, before Friday, the most daredevil thing I ever did in my life was go to the top of that Ferris wheel alone," she says. "And now… it's crazy. I knocked out two werewolves with a coffeepot. I went on a blind date with a weirdo. And now I'm following said weirdo around like a limpet."

I keep quiet. After all, it is kind of my fault that she's in this situation. Kind of. I mean, why should _I _get all the blame? It's only kind of my fault.

…

_MAX POV_

I have accepted the fact that this is a weird dream. I feel like Franka Potente from the Bourne Identity, being roped into all of this –except she died, like, halfway through the second movie, which doesn't make me feel too good about my future.

Maybe this is one of those hallucinatory experiences, where you wake up in a cold sweat and there's a doctor in front of you with a clipboard, and everyone's laughing at you because you think that the world's ending when really it's just been raining a little harder than usual.

As I duck and weave through the crowd with Fang holding on tightly to my arm, I have two thoughts. The first one –_I really should have brought a thicker jacket_. Seattle is _always_ cold. And the measly flannel I'm wearing doesn't do much in the way of protection from the elements. I gaze enviously at Fang's thick leather jacket before realizing that leather gets ruined in the rain. And the second thought –_I kind of don't want this to be a dream_. This could be one of those things that I could write a memoir about and make millions of dollars.

And now you're probably thinking, _why the hell does she trust this guy? She seemed like a smart, school-oriented, love-scorned person who wouldn't do stupid things exactly like this!_

Well, here's the thing –when you've just beaten up a couple of werewolves with a cappuccino machine, you kind of lose all sense of reason.

We reach Pier 12, which is really close to a loading dock, and the smell of raw, rotting fish overrules my fatigue. And to think I was so excited about eating seafood in Seattle.

"Follow me," Fang says, and he throws open the door to a seafood restaurant.

"What d'you think I've been doing so far?" I ask him, but he doesn't crack a smile. I'm beginning to think he doesn't smile easily. Tough crowd, I guess.

He doesn't abide the sign that says 'Please wait to be seated'. Instead, he walks straight past the hostess and to a table in the back, where four other kids are sitting. Fang plops down right next to a boy with spiky blond hair and his nose wrinkles. "Jeez, Gaz, could you keep it bottled up for a moment?"

The blond boy grins. "Apparently not."

Fang gestures to the last empty spot at the table, in between a dark-skinned girl with really curly black hair, and another blonde girl with the same blue eyes as the one with the digestive problems. Are they siblings? Who cares? "Sit down, Max."

I awkwardly take a seat and avoid everyone's gaze. They're all staring at me, sizing me up. Well, all of them except the really pale, strawberry-blond boy who's just staring off into space. I hate being stared at. It makes me feel so itchy. Why isn't anyone talking? I have to say something, anything, to get rid of this horrible silence.

"So," I begin awkwardly. "The weather…"

The blonde girl regards me for a moment like I've stained her favorite sweater and then turns to Fang. "You went back for _this_?"

My mouth falls open. But before I can comment on her tacky choice of clothes or something, Fang comes to my rescue. "She would've died if they went after her. I couldn't have that on my conscience."

The pale boy grins. "Nice, dude. Going back for the score. Someone tell me, is she hot?"

I open my mouth again but am interrupted once again by the curly-haired girl. "Really, Iggy? _That's_ what you ask first?"

I look at Iggy curiously, at how his ice-blue eyes are kind of just staring blankly at the wall. "Wait, can't you see?" I ask him, and he snorts.

"If I could, do you think I'd need to read the Braille version of Playboy magazine? Actually, the Braille version's better. It has… supplements." And he grins widely.

The girls wince. "Gross!" "We didn't need to hear that!"

I look at Fang. "Tell me now. What's going on?"

The blonde-haired girl crosses her arms and gives me another side glance of contempt. "Yeah, Fang. What the hell's going on?"

Fang regards me calmly. "Max, this is the Flock. Flock, introduce yourselves to Max."

The curly haired girl looks at me and gives me a big, genuine smile. "Okay, well, I'm Nudge, and it's really great to meet you!" She shakes my hand and I nearly flip at how tight of a grip she has.

The blond-haired boy's next. He lets out a huge burp and then grins wickedly at me. "I'm the Gasman. Gazzy to the ladies." He winks at me and I stare at him.

"I'm Iggy and I'd shake your hand, but I don't know where it is," the blind boy proclaims loudly, nearly knocking over a water glass with his elbow.

The blonde girl next to Fang rolls her eyes. "I'm Angel," she says after a long pause, and I can't help but let out a snort. Her eyes narrow. "You think that's funny?"

I shrug. "It's very… ironic. That's all."

Her eyes narrow even more, until they're just slits. "Don't cross me."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

We stare at each other until Fang eases the tension. "And you already know me. Enough of the introductions. The Erasers aren't stupid; they'll find us soon enough. And I don't really want to have to blow up another restaurant."

"I need to know what's going on," I say again.

Fang nods. "Of course. Nudge?"

She clears her throat importantly. "Four score and, like, eighteen years ago, in a faraway land where maple syrup is king –"

"Get to the point already," Gazzy groans.

She shrugs. "Suit yourself. Basically, there was a lab in Montreal, Canada that experimented on humans. They would've done the schizz in the States, but the human experimentation laws in Canada are a lot more lax. Anyways, these mad scientists wondered what would happen if you mixed the DNA of another animal with the DNA of a human's. Because, like, that's what they thought about in the shower. So they took DNA from an eagle, for, like, dexterity or something, and they took a human baby, and they created a mutant. A mutant that only had ninety-eight percent human DNA."

"What about the other two percent?" I ask, even though I know the entire story is full of bullcrap.

She grins. "Well, the experiment was a success."

"And that bird-kid is now a bird-man," Iggy says, smirking.

I look from one person to the other. "What're you talking about?"

"You didn't even tell her _anything_, Fang?" Angel asks exasperatedly.

Fang shrugs. "There was no time. You can't really talk about this kind of stuff while you're running for your life."

"Well, you're going to have to show her eventually. How about _now_?" Angel says.

Fang sighs. "Fine." He starts to stand up, taking off of his leather jacket to reveal toned muscles underneath. But that's not what I'm staring at, even though it's worth a glance or two or ten.

I'm staring at the sixteen-foot-long black wings sticking out of his back.

* * *

**I'm finished with exactly two percent of my college apps, so I thought I'd post this to celebrate!**

* * *

**This is more of a filler chapter. ****I can't believe it's taking so many words to get the plot rolling... I just didn't like how agreeable Max was before, so I sort of made up for that in this chapter. Let's be honest -how would _you_ react if you were seeing winged kids for the first time in your life? This close to Halloween, I'd probably just run away screaming :O**

**Keep in mind Max hasn't read the MR books, so there's no precedent for this.**

* * *

_FANG_

_Note to self: if you're planning to show a girl your wings, maybe add a little lead-in so that she doesn't fall off her chair and attract unwanted attention._

"Oh, dear God," Max gasps from the ground, upon seeing my beautiful (if I may say so myself), glossy black wings. You would not believe how many bottles of shampoo I go through, but it's worth it. "You… that… you… costume?"

I shake my head. "It's not Halloween."

"They're one-hundred-percent real," Nudge quips, grinning slightly at Max's overwhelmed face. "You wanna touch them?"

She stares at Nudge, her eyes so wide I think they're genuinely in danger of falling out of her head. "And… you… you guys are all cool with this?!"

I look at the others. Gazzy's busy eating cocktail shrimp (God forbid what'll happen four to six hours later), Iggy's staring at a spot two feet to the left of Max's head, a nonchalant expression on his face, and Angel's leaning back in her chair, her feet up on the table. She nods.

"Pretty much," Angel says, grinning.

Max gulps like a fish out of water for the next few seconds, staring from me to Angel to the others. Finally, when I think I had better use my charm to ease the situation, she pushes her chair down behind her and runs out of the restaurant, knocking over a few other chairs along the way. I watch her exit the restaurant and pull a regretful face at the other diners so they'll think it was just a date gone horribly wrong.

"Well, Fang, old chap," Angel says behind me. "That could have gone _so much _better."

…

_MAX_

I would pass out if I wasn't so freaked out.

He's insane. That's the only option. He's insane, and he's trying to kidnap me and hold me for ransom. He drugged me on Friday night to make me see the wolf and the wing hallucinations. He's trying to convince me that the world is in danger and that he's _saving _me, when in reality _he's_ the one that I'm in danger from.

He's probably a sex predator or something. My pulse quickens at the mere thought. They had the videos up during high school health class, of how to defend yourself against rape, but Ella and I were always busy playing paper football in the back of the class and I never paid any attention.

Besides –I feel like if I tried biting or clawing him, or whatever, he'd be able to punch my lights out in one go.

So that's why I ran. Because what weirdo thinks that I'll believe that he has _wings_?

I stop, finally, when I'm at the edge of the waterfront, where the cranes and the cargo ships are. I have no idea how far I am from school, so I decide to take a look at the bus schedule. The evening sun isn't very warm, and I shiver. I'm still wearing my apron from work, but I don't really have much else in the way of protection from the cold.

Breathing heavily, I walk over to the bus station which is almost deserted except for two other people –a really old lady sitting on the bench, and a middle-aged man who looks rather like a wrestler gone to seed. Can't really see his face though, not behind those overlarge sunglasses and that weird baseball cap. Who supports the 49ers when you're in _Seattle_?

I find a payphone and dig around in my pockets for fifty cents. Thank God –I have exact change in the pocket of my work apron –probably from the time I bet Matt five bucks in quarters that I could drink three Frappuccinos in under five minutes. I won, and it was so worth it.

I enter the quarters into the payphone and call the only number I know by heart. Ella picks up on the third ring.

"Ella, thank God. I have had the _worst_ day. You won't even believe what happened –so I was at work, and this guy comes up to me –"

"Max?" Ella's voice, sounding distinctly crackly over the phone, interrupts my tirade. "Max, is that really you?"

I frown at the phone. "Uh, yeah. Listen, I'm sorry I couldn't meet you at the mall, but just hear me out –"

"Max, you don't understand," Ella says, and for the first time I'm detecting a note of fear in her voice. "I know what happened –it was all over the news. The boy you were with beat up these poor, defenseless men and kidnapped you!"

"What? Who told you that? That's not what happened –"

"Max, where are you calling me from? The police can trace the call –we'll have you back in no time. Don't worry Max, you'll be home soon –"

"Ella, _listen to me_! I didn't get kidnapped, or raped, or any of that!" I notice the old lady's giving me a weird look, so I lower my voice. "I'm fine, okay?"

Before she can say anything else the call drops. I stare furiously at the tiny display, which reads, _needs more charge_. I feel around in my pockets for more quarters, but I don't have anymore. Shit, what happened to my other $4.50?

I sigh in frustration and turn around just in time to see a familiar shadow dart in front of the bus station bench. Crap on a stick.

Fang is standing there, looking distinctly windswept and out of breath.

"Go away," I say, brandishing the payphone as a weapon. "I'm warning you."

He grins. "Are you going to call the police with that or hit me with it?"

"Do you realize you've ruined my life in the span of a _day_? My best friend thinks I've been kidnapped, I've lost my job, and worst of all, I had to meet _you_! You're the worst human being in the world! You're worse than bin Laden! No, wait, no one's worse than bin Laden. Except for maybe Hitler, or Stalin –well, you're pretty high on the list, okay?"

Fang sighs and takes a step towards me, but stops when I wave the phone threateningly. "Max, I realize this is weird for you –"

"Weird for me?! You got me fired and now the police think you've kidnapped me! So yeah, it's pretty fucking weird for me! Just leave me alone!"

"Max, you really are in danger. Just come with me."

"Listen, if you come one step closer, I swear I will kick you in your soft spot so hard, you'll be singing soprano for a week. I play field hockey –I know what I'm about!" I say, still brandishing the payphone.

He sighs and runs his hands through his already messed-up hair. "Fine. You want to be left alone?"

I throw my hands up in the air. "That's all I ever wanted."

"Even though I'm the most attractive person you've ever met?"

I turn purple. "I –no –what? I never said that! How did –what –"

He smirks at me. "Angel can read minds."

Of course.

"Okay, and I suppose Iggy can fart butterflies," I say, backing up slowly. "You and your friends are all just psychos. You do you, man. I'm going to go and fix my life, and hopefully never see you again. Ever."

Fang shrugs. "I guess this is goodbye, then."

I grin. "Finally."

I leave him there and start walking before I realize that I've left him at _the bus stop_, which was my only way to get home. Crap, without a phone, where am I supposed to find a bus?

I decide to look for a taxi instead, since you can pay on arrival and I could just run up to my dorm and pay the two hundred dollars or so that it'll take to get all the way back to the university. Groaning, I walk up and down the alleys and streets, shivering slightly as the sun goes down. Why do all the taxis have people in them?! Why can't I just get a break for once?

Finally I see an empty one sitting on the side of the road in front of a Starbucks. Driver must be on a coffee run. I stand casually against the taxi, waiting to see if anyone's planning on coming out anytime soon.

Then a voice behind me resounds in my ear, making me jump. "Need a taxi?"

I turn and see the same 49ers guy from the bus stop leaning against the taxi, looking at me. I nod warily. How did he get here so quick? "Yeah, do you go as far as the university district?"

He nods, and I can see the reflection of the sunset in his black glasses.

I give a sigh of relief. "Thank _god_. You would _not_ believe the cruddy day I've been having. I just want to go home and put this mess behind me," I enter the cab and he gets into the driver's seat.

"What happened?" he asks, starting the car and signaling out.

I sigh and slump against the cracked leather seats. I don't really feel like going into details with a random stranger. "Oh, the usual. It's kind of ironic, actually. I wished for my life to be exciting, because everything I've ever done has been so boring, and today I've had more action than the rest of my existence combined."

"You should be careful what you wish for," the cab driver says. I notice that behind his hat and sunglasses, he has what looks like a very bushy beard. Poor guy probably doesn't even have time to brush his beard.

"Why're you wearing your sunglasses indoors?" I ask him curiously, after a moment, and he stops the car at a red light before turning around to stare at me. I can't see anything, only my reflection in those sunglasses, and I feel a slight pang of apprehension. I'm no stranger to kidnapping. I unbuckle my seatbelt and tense up as his hand goes to remove his sunglasses. "What're you…"

"I've finally got you now, Maximum Ride," he growls, and pulls off his sunglasses to reveal yellow orbs with black slits in the middle.

They're not human eyes.

They're wolf eyes.

I scream and duck as a claw shoots towards me and sinks three inches deep into the worn leather of the cab. From my curled up position on the ground, I manage to kick the door open, but before I can crawl out of the car, the Eraser presses his foot onto the gas pedal and the cab goes speeding off. The immense force of the speed causes my head to hang out of the car, and suddenly my nose is three inches from the pavement as the car over speeds on city roads at forty miles an hour.

I open my mouth to scream but nothing comes out –suddenly, the Eraser slams the breaks on the car and I hit my head on the bottom of the passenger seat hard. I look up, dazed, to see that we're in the middle of an alley, a perfect place for me to die and my body to be shoved in a dumpster.

Swearing, I crawl out of the car just in time to roll out of the way as the Eraser tries to take another swipe at me. I manage to claw myself to a standing position using a nearby mailbox, legs shaking from panic, as I raise a hand to my head, which hurts like hell, and remove it to find my fingers glistening with blood.

"Listen, man, we're all friends –"

I duck behind the mailbox as he takes another punch at me and feel a dull thud as his fist sinks into the mailbox instead, denting the metal. I look around wildly for help, but the alley's completely deserted. Where are all the people that could save me?!

"Why do you even want me?!" I scream at him, cowering behind my mailbox, the one thing keeping me from being gored to death. "I don't know anything!"

"That's not what the Director says!" the Eraser roars. For a split second after that, everything goes silent and before I can even begin to wonder what happened, the werewolf gives an earsplitting grunt and rips the mailbox from the ground.

"Oh my God," I whimper, scrambling backwards. My back presses against something solid and I look up to see a brick wall towering over me –a dead end.

I'm going to die. The Eraser takes one step towards me, waving the metal mailbox threateningly.

I'm going to die… but at least I'll have died in the coolest way possible.

He takes another step, putting less than a yard's distance in between us, and I close my eyes. "Just d-do it fast."

I catch a glimpse of his sharp fangs as he grins widely. "My pleasure."

I close my eyes and wait for the blow.

A second later, I hear a horrible crunching sound and a loud grunt, but I don't feel anything. Is this death? Is death really painless?

Then why is my head hurting so much? Why am I still shaking? Why am I hearing someone scream the words, "Pick on someone your own size, furball!"

Then I hear another, lighter thud near me, but I still don't open my eyes. I'm not sure if I'll like what I see.

Then I hear the same voice as earlier, the voice of a teenage boy. "Open your eyes, kid, the Eraser's dead."

Then another voice, a girl's one, says, "Gross! Gazzy, he's not dead! Is he? Oh my God, did we just kill someone?!"

"I think it's justifiable to the police if we did it in self-defense." A third voice. All of these sound familiar.

I open my eyes to find three guardian angels in front of me –complete with wings. Three mangy, smelly, scratched-up…

Hang on.

As my eyes adjust, I realize I've seen all these people before, in the restaurant. Nudge, Iggy, and Gazzy.

Which means I'm not dead!

As I stand up, I feel a shooting pain in my stomach area and I double over, groaning in pain. Aargh, I _feel_ like I'm dead. "What happened to the Eraser?" I croak, seeing red. Gazzy mutely points to the corner, and I see a pair of furry legs sticking out from underneath a mailbox. I feel bile rise in my throat, along with vomit.

Nudge puts a hand on my shoulder, her eyes worried. "You okay?"

I try to speak but just end up coughing. "Never been better," I manage.

Nudge grins. "I like her," To me, she says. "Do you think you can walk? We're going to have to get out of here real soon unless you want another fleet of Erasers after you. One's a piece of cake. More than one; however…" She shares a look with Iggy and Gazzy. Well, just Gazzy. I had forgotten that Iggy was blind.

I nod and follow them out of the alley, leaving the dead/unconscious Eraser behind. "So all of you have wings?" I ask Iggy casually.

He nods. "It's a funny story, actually –"

I nod numbly, cutting his words out. Right now, I'm in too much shock and pain to really absorb anything that's happening. Honestly, this is probably a dream. If it is, then I should just pinch myself and wake up. And then tell myself to stop drinking so much Coke before bed.

I trail behind the others, unable to walk faster. I keep tripping over my own feet. It's not like any of this even matters anyway. It's just a dream. I tune out and only hear snatches of the others' conversations.

"It's all Fang's fault…"

"She could've died…"

"… the Director didn't want the mission…"

"Where are we supposed to meet Fang, again?" Nudge asks, and Gazzy points behind her.

I look up to see two hazy outlines on the horizon, and I smile. Fang and Angel. Great, the whole family's here.

As soon as Nudge reaches Fang she starts talking at the speed of sound. "You won't believe how lucky we were. We followed her, like you told us to, and we managed to intervene right before things were about to get nasty. The Eraser was, like, seven feet tall, and he had a _mailbox_, and he was growling and screaming and –"

Fang frowns, steps past Nudge, and looks at me. "Max? You okay?"

I grin toothily at him. "Since I've realized this is a dream, I can finally tell you that wings are a really cool fashion accessory. Where can I get a pair? And do they come in different colors?"

His frown deepens, revealing premature lines around his forehead. I raise my hand to touch one but he grabs it and puts my arm around his shoulders instead, supporting me. That's when I realize that I can't stand for another second, and my knees give way. "She's in shock," he says to the others.

Angel scoffs. "What did you expect? She's had more excitement in a day than most people do in their lifetime! Frankly, it's a miracle that she's not blabbering incoherently."

"Okay, so we need to get out of here. We'll need to find a good set of wheels, since Max can't fly. And no, we can't leave her here. Even if she wants it. She knows too much, and _they_ know that she knows too much." He tightens his arm around my waist and I bite back a giggle. "She's one of us now."

And that's the last bit I remember before the pain in my head pangs tortuously and I pass out.

* * *

**I posted the last chapter when I was roughly 2% done with my college apps, and now I'm 15% done! Making some progress...**

**Anyways, I plan to post the next chapter as soon as I'm finished polishing it. Right now it's kind of a diamond in the rough... but since it's a major chapter I want it to be perfect.**

* * *

_I.C.E. HEADQUARTERS: SEATTLE_

Jeb was probably going to die today.

He wasn't just being melodramatic -the Director had asked specifically for a meeting with him. There was no doubt she had caught wind of what had happened in Seattle. She had no idea that he had gone behind her back and asked for a renegade mission. She had no idea that it was _him_ that was behind the Flock forming once again, right?

Jeb clutched the small square of metal to his chest. When he had had the meeting with Fang, he had slipped the small tracking device into the boy's drink. Now he could see exactly where Fang was at all times. It was a necessary safety precaution, to make sure the boy did not forget their agreement. Fang had been right -he was no longer the wide-eyed, weak child he had been for much of his life. Jeb had no doubts whatsoever that the boy could overcome him physically -that was what he had been bred to do.

But Jeb could still outsmart Fang, and that was why he had the upper hand. Mission X-1 was the most dangerous mission out there. Fang had no idea what he had signed up for.

He shoved the tracker deep into his pocket, away from where the Director's keen eyes would be able to seek it out.

As he walked down the hall towards the room on the very end of the corridor, he looked through the windows of the various rooms. A squid undergoing a very bloody craniotomy. An Eraser tearing a punching bag to shreds with its teeth while a scientist in a lab coat timed it. A storage room, completely white and sparkling except for one jarring blood stain in the corner.

Jeb gulped slightly and continued forward. After walking for what seemed like an eternity, he opened the door to the Director's control room and stepped inside. Unlike last time, the room was pitch black, save for one light directly above the Director's chair.

"Hello, Jeb." A voice, much deeper and raspier than the Director's usual harsh voice, came from the swivel chair. "So good of you to meet me."

And then the chair turned around, and Jeb stifled a scream.

Yes, he was definitely going to die today.

_..._

_MAX_

"Unnnngh,"

I reach my arm out to turn off my alarm clock to get ready for another day of school –but all my arm catches is thin air.

Puzzled, I open one eye blearily to see that my dorm room's gotten way bigger. And cleaner. And _whiter_.

I sit up, rubbing my eyes and yawning, to feel my head slightly throbbing. No big deal. This isn't the first time I've woken up hungover and imagined things.

It's only when I manage to keep both my eyes open for longer than a second that I realize the reason my dorm doesn't look like my dorm anymore is because I'm not in it. I'm sitting in a king-sized, plush bed with 10,000 thread-count sheets all over me. It's a far cry from my usual fleece Snuggie and the pull-out couch in my tiny room.

Is this a continuation of my dream? It must be –I could never afford a luxury apartment in real life.

I carefully set one foot onto the mahogany floor, and then another. I can't hear anything coming from inside the apartment, so I decide to make my way down the hall. I tiptoe past five or six closed doors –how big is this place? –until I reach what looks like the kitchen.

There's someone standing in the kitchen, flipping pancakes expertly.

I groan as I realize who it is.

…

_FANG_

I turn around to see that the resident sleeping beauty has woken up. "Mornin', Max," I say nonchalantly as I flip two different pancakes in two different skillets.

She looks resigned as she pulls out a stool at the counter and plops herself into it. "You can cook, too?" she asks me incredulously.

I shrug modestly. "Mostly just breakfast food."

Max blows the loose strands of blonde hair out of her face. "Any other special talents I should know about… besides the wings, the fighting, and cooking?"

I lean against a row of cabinets and think. "Well, I do play a mean harmonica."

She nods. "Right, of course. Shoulda guessed."

"You okay?" I ask her, standing in front of the counter.

She shrugs. "I'm great – _ow_."

"What's wrong?"

"Aargh, I'm not hungover, am I? Because my head keeps throbbing…" She puts a hand up to her head and her eyes widen when she feels the crown of bandages there. "What happened to me?!"

"Do you remember being chased by the Eraser?"

Her forehead furrows. "Vaguely."

"Well, you lost a lot of blood, and then you passed out for about twelve hours. But I fixed you up pretty good. I'm also a bit of a medic." I gesture to the stack of pancakes I've been cooking. "Eat up. You're going to need your energy."

She stares at them warily. "Did you poison them?"

"_No_."

Max looks at me with a hard expression on her face. "Where are we?"

"I think you should get some food in you before I answer any of your questions. And yeah, I _am_ going to answer them. Just eat something before you pass out… again," I say, plopping a huge stack of pancakes onto a plate and setting it in front of her.

"Hey, can I get a fork?" Max asks casually.

I throw one at her and she catches it. I turn around to check the bacon and eggs and the next second, I hear a loud scream.

"What the hell?!" I yell, running towards Max, who has just plunged the fork into her palm. I pull the fork out of her grasp and resist the urge to slap her.

She stares at the four tiny dots of blood where the fork broke her skin. "Oh, my God."

"Oh my god is right. What the hell did you do that for?" I ask her, grabbing a bandage from the nearby counter and beginning to wrap her hand in it.

Max grows steadily paler as she fixates on her puncture wounds. "This isn't a dream, is it? Because usually, in dreams, you don't feel pain. You wake up. But…" She stares at me. "Take off your shirt."

"You're insane," I tell her, smirking. "But, I mean, if you want to be _that_ forward about it…"

Max's cheeks color slightly. "I need to see if you have wings."

"Well, that's a nice excuse," I say, grinning, as she throws her fork at me. I spread my wings out to their full length. They easily span the length of the tiny kitchen, and I wince as some of my feathers get ruffled. Max nods resignedly.

"Well, I'm fucked," she mutters, resting her head on her arms. A second later she looks up at me. "Where're your friends?"

I fold my wings back tightly and flip another pancake over on the skillet. "Gazzy and Iggy are out getting the paper and some other stuff –they won't be back for a while. Nudge and Angel are out shopping for some clothes, since you can't wear _my_ stuff forever." It's then when Max finally looks down at her clothes.

"_You_ changed my clothes?!" she asks incredulously, fingering the fabric of my dark blue shirt.

I turn off the stove and turn to face her. "Max, if I can flip two different pancakes in two different skillets at the same time, then I can definitely change your clothes with my eyes closed. In any case, I didn't do it –Nudge did."

"Nudge did what?" a voice trills, entering the room. I look up to see Nudge and Angel entering the apartment, clutching bags and bags. I groan. I should've known –when Nudge goes shopping, she buys out the entire store, all the time. She notices Max still fingering my shirt with a horrified expression on her face and nods. "Oh, yeah. Honey, _your_ clothes were ripped, soaked with blood, and worst of all, _out of style_. Skinny jeans and Converse were _so_ five years ago. So we did the best we could… But I bought you this!" And she holds up a bag marked _Forever 21. _"C'mon, we're going to get you looking great again."

Nudge leads a bewildered Max out of the kitchen, and I look over at Angel, who's busy helping herself to food. "Did you secure the area?" I ask her.

Angel nods. "So far, no signs of any bad guys. But you must know we can't stay here forever. They're bound to find us eventually. How's your girlfriend?"

"She's not my girlfriend. You know why we brought her here. They would've tortured her to death if we had left her there, asking for information that she doesn't know."

"Then why are you still flexing even though she's gone?" Angel asks me, grinning. I freeze.

_Fuck you, Angel_, I think, and she smirks. "It's eight o'clock. Let's turn on the news." I say, walking over to the television.

I turn on KOMO 4 news to see a commercial for kitty litter before the real news comes on.

"…in other news, a coffee shop in downtown Seattle has been heavily ravaged by what the police has believed to be a gang. The crime scene, a local Italian restaurant named Ricardo's, where a teenage gang was reported to be beating a group of helpless men senseless, was completely destroyed as the victims cowered behind upturned tables. Eyewitness testimonies indicate that the main perpetrator was a teenage boy with dark hair, and he was aided by four other accomplices. The gang escaped soon after being confronted, and police are confounded as to who the suspects are."

The camera cuts to crude drawings of me and the Flock. Angel bursts out laughing when she sees my police sketch. "They gave you a _beard_? Wow… they really are confounded."

I shush her so I can keep watching the news. "A similar incident occurred on Monday at local Joan's Coffee, where the storage room was completely destroyed in a similar struggle. There was one casualty in the second raid –a college-aged student by the name of Maxine Ride, who was attending the University of Washington as an honors student. Police had believed Ms. Ride to be kidnapped by the gang, but were confounded when the blood at the scene was a perfect DNA match."

My mouth falls open as the television flashes to a picture of Max, smiling and laughing. They must have taken that from her yearbook or something.

I can't take it anymore. I turn the television off and look at Angel, who exhales slowly. "Maybe we should keep a low profile for a while, huh?" she asks me, and I nod.

"What were you watching?" comes a voice behind me, and I turn around to see… damn.

Whatever Nudge did to Max in that bathroom worked wonders. The bruises on her face have mostly disappeared, and she might even be wearing a little bit of makeup. And the clothes Nudge bought her actually suit her, which is great. For a millisecond, I can't speak, but I can feel Angel's smirk penetrating me from her perch on the couch. "Nothing –we weren't watching anything," I say a little too fast.

Nudge comes up behind Max, beaming. "It's amazing what a few hair ties, some concealer, and a bit of mascara can do! She looks great, right? Fang, tell Max she looks great!"

"You look great," I say casually.

"Thanks. Now what were you watching?" Max asks me pointedly. I sigh and turn the news channel back on, where the on-site representative is now at the restaurant where all the damage happened. As we watch, I keep one eye on the screen and one eye on Max's face, which slowly changes from surprised, to resigned, to sad. Finally, I can't take it anymore, and I turn the television off.

"They think I'm dead," Max whispers softly.

I'm thinking I should put my arm around her to comfort her, but Nudge beats me to it. "I'm so, so, _so_ sorry, Max."

She looks over Nudge's shoulder and straight into my eyes. "This means I can never go back. True or false?"

I clear my throat. "True."

I stare into her blue eyes for a few moments, trying to work out if she's going to begin crying, have a mental breakdown, or even hit me. Anything would be justified, given the circumstances. But she just stares back at me with a hard look in her eyes and says, "Then you had better tell me every fucking thing about you, starting from the beginning."

I look at Nudge and Angel. "We're going up to the roof for some privacy."

Nudge shrugs. "Don't fall."

I walk out to the fire escape on the window and start climbing up the fire escape after gesturing to Max to follow me. When we reach the roof, I leap off and reach down to pull Max up. She stands there, hugging herself and shivering slightly, looking out at the skyline. Her eyes widen slightly when she sees how high up we are. I look into Max's eyes. "What do you want to know?"

"Uh, where are we?" She points to some palm trees. "That's not Seattle."

"San Francisco."

"How did we get here?"

"Borrowed a car. Shared driving in shifts. Lots of caffeine."

"What's your name?"

"Fang."

"Real name."

"Nicholas Aspen Walker."

"Parents?"

"Never met them."

"Birthday?"

"I don't have one."

"Who are you?"

I open my mouth to answer and then close it, sighing. "Okay. From the beginning. There were scientists that had fled to North America way back when to escape prosecution after World War Two and the Holocaust. You studied biology during school, right? So you must know who Josef Mengele is -"

"I know who he is," Max said, nodding. "He experimented on twins and stuff, right? He cut off their arms and things like that."

"Yeah. So basically, a lot of his... coworkers emigrated to North America to avoid being killed. And they set up labs here. And they continued their experiments on animals, to keep it low-key. That went on for about fifteen years, until the Vietnam War. America was getting its ass kicked by the NVA, the Northern Vietnamese army. So these undercover mad scientists had a brilliant idea. Instead of bombing villages and destroying a country, we could instead engineer supersoldiers that would excel in hand-to-hand combat and the loss of life would ultimately be less." I look at Max to make sure she's still listening, and she nods.

"Go on,"

I exhaled. "Okay. So, the plan was to extract the DNA from the most ferocious animals -tigers, lions, eagles, snakes -and to fuse that DNA with a still-developing human embryo so the embryo's stem cells could adapt its genes. The human baby would grow up to exhibit the intelligence of a human and the brute strength of one of these animals. But... the first experiment didn't go so well." I shudder at the thought. "Neither did the second. Or the third. In fact, the first _thousand_ experiments were complete failures. The first successful experiment that lasted longer than a few hours was the Eraser."

"The wolf-things."

"Part wolf, part human. The first Eraser ever created only lasted for three days. He died of cardiac arrest because his heart was beating too fast to support his bulk. But he was proof that it could happen -mutants were a viable concept. So the recipe was fine-tuned, tweaked, and perfected until July 17th, 1978, when the first avian mutant was born." I take a deep breath, looking at my hands. "His name was David Ericsson. Part human and part snapping turtle."

"When were... you...?" Max asked quietly. "Can I ask that?"

I nodded. "Eighteen years ago, in Montreal, Canada. I grew up in that lab and was shipped to the Institute in New York at the age of seven, where I met the rest of the Flock. We escaped after five more years in that hell, and I've been hunted by the Director ever since." I look at her.

"What does the Director want from you?" Max asks quietly.

I snort. "The Director is the granddaughter of Josef Mengele. She wants to kill me. She wants to kill all of us. Over the years, she's cultivated an army of perfectly behaved mutants, bent on taking over the world. The Erasers are her hitmen, and she sends them out to kill anyone who tries to escape or who doesn't follow her plan exactly. But she doesn't realize that I don't plan on ever setting foot in one of her labs ever again."

"And what's the I.C.E.?"

"International Corporation for the Enhanced. She has headquarters all over the world -one was in Seattle, which might have been why the Erasers found us so easily."

The slight wind blows Max's hair into her face and she makes no attempt to tuck it away. "This is a lot for me to take in."

"I understand."

"You seem pretty calm," Max says to me.

"I like to think I'm good at hiding my emotions," I tell her with a crooked smile. "Keeps me alive. Besides, you seem pretty calm, too."

Max shoves her hands in the pockets of her jeans. "It's because I trust you."

As soon as the words leave her mouth, she looks as surprised as I feel. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I might be dead to everyone I've ever known... but I've never felt more alive." She looks into the San Francisco skyline. "All I wanted my entire life was to have a bit of excitement, and now a whole boatload's decided to hit me in the face. So I might as well make the most of it."

Instinctively I take her hand in mine. "And I will do my very best to make sure you don't die for real." I tell her solemnly.

...

_MAX_

I smile. "Can I see the... your wings?"

"You're not going to run off, or stab yourself with a fork, or anything, are you?" Fang grins and unfolds them once more to their full length. And instead of running away, I tentatively reach a hand out to touch the glossy black feathers. They're extremely soft to the touch, and I notice that they're so dark that in the morning sunlight, they shine almost purple. Purple with soft white down feathers.

I look at Fang. "They're beautiful."

He pretends to blush. "Daw..."

"Have you ever picked up a girl before?" I say quietly, grinning. "You're not very good at flirting."

"Well, forgive me for not having time to talk to girls while being simultaneously chased by Erasers," Fang says sardonically. "Not to mention the whole _wing_ situation we've got going on. In Iggy's words,_ it's not really a chick magnet_."

"So why _did_ you hijack my blind date?" I ask him. "If you don't have any experience with girls?"

Fang falters, and his expression seems to change for a split second to something disturbing. But I have no idea if I'm imagining it or not because the next second he rebounds back with, "I have experience with girls! You know what, I don't have to prove myself to you. You can just go live life with your _boyfriend_ Mark -"

"His name's Matt!" I laugh, lightly shoving Fang. "And he's not my boyfriend! He's just my very _awkward_ coworker... well, he _was_." I fall silent and look up at the sunny sky. It still hasn't really hit me that I'll never be able to see Ella or Joan or my parents ever again. Even Matt... I would do anything just to see Matt drop a cappuccino one last time.

Suddenly, despite the sun, the temperature feels like it just dropped ten degrees. I shiver slightly, burrowing myself deeper into the windbreaker Nudge bought for me. I want to go back inside, but even as I turn around I feel a pair of warm arms wrap around me.

"Now listen," Fang's voice comes from somewhere above my head. "I don't usually do the hugging thing, but you have forced my hand. This is all my fault. I accept that." He lets go of me and I finally get a sense of how close Fang is standing to me. My heart beats a bit faster. Fang's deep voice gets quieter as he goes on."And English just doesn't have a word to explain how truly sorry I am, Max."

I nod. "Okay."

"No, I don't think you understand. I'm sorry you had to be dragged into this mess, but I'm not sorry that you're here. At all."

I nod again. I don't know what to say, and I think anything I could say anyway would turn this into the goddamn _Notebook_. So I just let his words wash over me.

"You asked me why I hijacked your blind date," Fang whispers, and I content myself with staring into his dark eyes. Up close, they're actually flecked with gold and green. It's an unusual combination, but it suits him perfectly. "It's because the moment I saw you I knew that you would be the perfect combo of funny, sassy, and sexy. It's because I think you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. It's because the moment I saw you, my whole crazy, twisted, messed-up world stopped."

I clear my throat. "Uh, well, I give that monologue an eight out of ten! It was executed really well, but just a _tad_ on the cliche side -"

Thank god, he cuts me off. His lips smash into mine with a kind of intensity that makes me feel like I'm floating. I can't really tell whose lips are whose at this point. His mouth contours to fit mine perfectly. His hands grip my back perfectly. This might be the most perfect kiss I've ever had in my life... but I don't have anything to compare it to Freddy Baker, who I never even kissed because his face was always covered in snot. When I can't breathe anymore, we break apart, and there's no sound except for Fang's breathing.

"And exactly how often do you do the kissing thing?" I ask weakly, breaking the silence, and he smiles. Before he can say anything, a small explosion rattles the floor of the terrace a little and I jump slightly. Fang rolls his eyes.

"C'mon," he says, extending a hand to me. "Looks like you'll get to see firsthand the effects of Iggy and Gazzy's favorite pastime."

* * *

**Fax at last! I was heavily hinting towards this from the moment Fang and Max met, so it was really fun to finally be able to write their first kiss. One thing you won't have to worry about is the romance going too fast. I mean, it took them six chapters to even meet, and another seven to get this far. I like Fax when it's slow because then it's natural.**

**This chapter is pushing 4,000 words, and most of it is talking. Still, this is a major chapter because it marks Max's shaky shift into accepting the weirdness happening around her. To even it out, ****I promise there'll be a lot of Eraser (and bird-kid) butt-kicking in the next chapter. And as a bonus, Iggy and Gazzy will blow something up, because I love it when they blow stuff up. Their bromance is the best one in the entire series (but Dylan and Fang's non-existent one is a close second).**

**Tell me your thoughts in the box below!**

Ari was losing his patience.

Generations of Erasers had come and gone. Each new batch unveiled would be infinitely bloodthirstier, more powerful, and more apt at tracking. But those useless scientists working for the I.C.E. had never been able to figure out one thing -how to make the wolf-hybrids _smarter_.

Example: Jackson, Ari's so-called right-hand man, was currently huffing gasoline dripping from the exhaust of their stolen car. Instead of tracking down the Flock like they had been assigned to do. Ari had half a mind to report him to the Director, but he knew the Director would immediately put Jackson down. So he refrained. "Hey. Jackson," he barked, motioning the Eraser over. "Take a look at this."

The Eraser wandered over to him, nearly stumbling in the paths of cars doing eighty on the highway, looking dazed. "Huh?"

"Maybe if you stopped frying your three brain cells with gasoline for one second, you'd understand what I'm forcing you to look at," Ari snarled. He pointed to the cracked, dry ground. "What do you see?"

"A... feather."

"And what's next to it?"

Jackson wrinkled his nose... snout? "Tire tracks?"

"So what does that mean? Use those two brain cells that the scientists gave you by accident." Ari growled, and Jackson scratched his head, looking wary.

"Uhh... they escaped..."

"Yeah. They escaped. With _her_." Ari let out a deep, shuddering breath. "And if we don't find them, we're dead meat." About as dead as as the squirrel that was currently spattered all over the side of the highway, its innards splayed out pathetically. Ari sighed. Everything had to die eventually, somehow or other. And if he didn't find those rogue bird kids, he'd be next.

* * *

_**FANG**_

"Let me get this straight. You guys blew up a toaster?"

Iggy scuffs his shoe with the other foot and looks down at his feet while Gazzy, turning red, looks determinedly away from my stare.

"Do you _want_ to draw attention to us?" I ask them, deadly quietly. "Do you _want_ to get captured and sent back to the clutches of the Director before we've even had a chance to reclaim our lives? Do you guys _want _to live in cages again?"

"We were trying to create better bombs so that everyone -and especially Max -could fend the Erasers off if it ever came to that," Iggy says, raising his chin defiantly. "We were just following your orders to protect her at all costs."

"Yeah, at least we were doing something productive, while you were up there playing Twister with each others' tongues."

Max turns red at this statement, thereby confirming everyone's suspicions.

"Right, well... we're not talking about that," I say heatedly, and Gazzy makes a smooching noise at Iggy, who grins mischievously back. "We're all settled -"

"And Max has been _totally_ welcomed into the Flock -"

"_We're not talking about that_!"

* * *

"Jeb Batchelder. The man of the hour." The man sitting in the Director's seat spoke with a clipped French accent.

Jeb felt his hands instinctively ball up into fists. ""Dr. Gunther-Hagen. What are you doing here?" he asked the man sitting in front of him, intruding in this space. "I thought you were clipping penguins in Antarctica."

Dr. Gunther-Hagen's glasses slipped down his nose and he pushed them back up. "I was called in by the Director herself. You don't seem particularly happy to see me."

"Why would I be?" Jeb retorted, scowling. "You ran off with two of the most coveted experiments we had."

The bespectacled man smiled. "You always were tetchy, Jeb."

Jeb winced. "What do you want?"

"You have heard, I assume, that Prisoner X-1 has recently escaped, leaving no trace."

Jeb surreptitiously shoved the tracker in his hand even further into his pocket. "Of course. The Director isn't pleased, to say the least."

"Well, the Director called me personally to oversee matters here while she goes and takes care of some of the backlash." The other man leaned forward and spoke quietly. "Also... I'm sorry about Ericsson. He was a good man."

Jeb scowled. Why the Director had chosen the man sitting in front of him to oversee matters' was beyond him. "He was."

"Come on. Where's the hospitality that you are so famous for?" Gunther-Hagen smiled. "You've changed a lot in the past few years, Jeb."

"That's Dr. Batchelder," Jeb said tightly, almost growling. "And what else would you expect in a profession like this one? While I've been working eighteen-hour days carefully monitoring and studying experiments, you've been dossing around in Antarctica, of all places."

"So you're still angry about that, I see." Gunther-Hagen stood up and rubbed his spectacles on the front of his lab coat.

Jeb watched the man, still angry, but also curious. "How are they, then?" he begrudgingly asked Gunther-Hagen after a moment. "The experiments that you ran off with... what was it? Sixteen? Seventeen years ago?"

"They're wonderful. In fact, they're here. Children!"

A moment later, the door to the meeting room opened and in strode two tall people -the blonde boy was easily at least six and a half feet, while the red-haired girl had to be nearing six feet. Both of them smiled brightly at Jeb, who winced at how blinding their smiles were. The red-haired girl extended a hand. "Hello, Mr. Batchelder."

Jeb shook her hand, astonished. He turned back to the doctor. "How are they... so... I mean, last I saw them, they were babies. Barely a year old. "

"Ah, yes, they've grown up well. Children, as you already know, this is Dr. Jeb Batchelder. Jeb, this is Ileana and Dylan."

The blonde-haired boy also warmly extended his hand to Jeb. His bright smile was so out of place in the sharp white environment of the Control Room that it was extremely unsettling to Jeb as he took the boy's hand. "It's very nice to meet you, sir," Dylan said, still beaming. Jeb felt his knuckles crack with the strength of the boy's grip and yanked his hand away, wincing.

Gunther-Hagen smiled. "For the past seventeen years, I have been training them. They have demonstrated extreme intellectual capabilities as well as physical capabilities. Dylan here can crush a car with his grip strength, which I'm sure you have been training your Erasers to do for years. Ileana has incomparable marksmanship -she can hit her target from as far as a mile away, which your Erasers couldn't even dream about. Both of them have extremely acute senses of hearing and sight, and both of them have mastered the martial arts of karate, judo, Krav Maga, and even street fighting. _They_ are the future of enhanced beings."

Jeb watched and tried not to gape as Dylan picked up a chair and easily bent one of its titanium legs as if it was made out of clay. "Why have you brought them here?"

"I thought they could help with the inevitable fight. They are both extremely obedient, and will do nearly whatever I say. Such is the power of a good upbringing." Gunther-Hagen flexed his fingers and smiled at Jeb. "What about _your_ most prized experiment -what was his name?"

Jeb fingered the tracker in his pocket once more. "Nicholas. But he calls himself Fang now."

"Fang. What an interesting name," Dylan remarked. He exchanged a smile with Ileana.

"Is he here? Do you have him? My children have been looking forward to meeting him. They did grow up with him for the first year of their lives, after all."

Jeb shook his head slowly. "He is not here a the moment," Jeb said after a pause. "But lest assured, he remains to be one of the most successful experiments of his generation. He is also very strong. And intelligent." _And he wants to tear my throat out._

"And handsome?" Ileana interjected, and both she and Dylan began laughing.

"Where is he?" Gunther-Hagen asked, looking curiously at Jeb.

* * *

**_FANG_**

"Mission X-1," I say, taking out the file from where it's been residing so far -in the inside of my coveted leather jacket. "It's the big one. As you all know by now, David Ericsson is dead. Killed while on the line of duty. And he was killed by Prisoner X-1."

Nudge puts a hand over her mouth. It serves a dual purpose -she also will not constantly interject every five moments.

"Our mission is to find him before he destroys the world." I say, and Nudge clasps a second hand over her mouth.

"And how does your best friend Jeb expect six kids to be able to do it?" Iggy asks icily. "The guy's insane -he single-handedly blew up the Twin Towers!"

"He's dangerous, too!" Nudge says, apparently unable to remain quiet a second longer. "He didn't even get caught!"

I shrug. "Oh, I know it's dangerous. I know it seems damn near impossible. And Jeb knows it too -he doesn't expect us to survive. He expects me to take the bait and then die trying." I put my feet up on the table as Iggy, Nudge, and Gazzy all open their mouths to interject at the same time.

"But you just -"

"Why did you -"

"If I had known -"

"If you had known what, Nudge?" I ask her. "If you had known that you had the chance to go on the greatest adventure of your life, you would have remained at your school and been elected queen of the Spring Fling or whatever? And you would have been happy with that? Of course not! And yeah, I accepted his offer, because he offered us _immunity_, guys. And we're not going to fail. I can almost guarantee it. Because I've got a plan."

The others still aren't convinced. They all start talking over each other again.

"Oh, you and your _brilliant _plans -"

"I could have been living a peaceful life -"

"_If I had known_ -"

"One at a time!" I bark, and everyone falls silent. "Gazzy?"

He stands up abruptly, nearly knocking my feet off of the table. "Why are Erasers chasing us everywhere we go? You said, and I quote, '_he promised us immunity._' It's hardly immunity if Erasers are chasing us every five feet."

I sigh. "Well... They hate us for escaping in the first place, and they'll keep hunting us down unless the Director tells them to stop, which she is wont to do. Therefore, we should be on our guard at all times."

Nudge raises her hand. "Uh, what about Max?"

I cross my arms. "What about her?"

"Are you just planning on bringing her along? Putting her in danger? I mean, that's crazy."

"She'll be in even more danger on her own," I say. "And like I said, I've got a plan. It involves her."

* * *

**_MAX_**

"You know, I get the feeling you hate me, but I can't quite put my finger on why," I say to Angel casually.

She snorts. "Guess that makes two of us. Because _I _have a funny feeling that Fang's biting off more than he can chew with you around. What exactly did he tell you? That he'd protect you, that it would be okay? Did he tell you that you stopped his world, or something stupid that he ripped from _The Notebook_?"

I wince. "Well, that's not -"

Angel scoffs. "Hand me the monkey wrench, will you?"

I pass the tool to her outstretched hand and lean against the worn-out van, my eyes tracing a particularly long scratch along its side. "You know, I can help. I fixed up my dad's old Carrera once..." I falter when I remember that I might never be able to see him again.

Angel crawls out from under the van. "Yeah, well, you run around with a couple of engineering geeks who love to tinker for a few years, you pick some stuff up. Also, I don't trust you. Hand me the duct tape."

Rolling my eyes, I hand her a roll of duct tape. This car's going to blow up before we get ten miles, I'm sure of it. "How blunt."

"Oh, save it, Barbie. You don't trust me, either." Angel crawls out from under the van again and taps her temples. "I can read minds, remember?"

"You must never lose an argument then," I say sardonically, and she grins.

"Not to anyone like you." Angel raps on the door of the van. "Fixed it up, _without _your help, thanks very much."

I snort. "I don't really think putting liberal amounts of duct tape over the coolant pipe can be considered fixing it, but thanks anyways."

Angel grins. "That's right, I forgot that you're not one of us. This is how we solve _all_ our problems. Put a whole lotta duct tape over it and hope it goes away. Example number one: Fang." She jerks her thumb back at the street, at the apartment building where the rest of the Flock is.

I cross my arms. "All right, what is your deal with Fang? What did he do?"

"You don't want to know."

"Tell me. Or I'll shove this wrench somewhere where it'll hurt for weeks."

Angel scoffs again. "Right. You can't handle it."

"I've been attacked by Erasers twice in the last two days. I've left my entire family and all my friends behind, and I've even died, according to the news. So I think I can handle knowing that Fang's kissed another girl in his life -"

_CRASH_. Angel whirls around to the source of the sound, and her eyes widen.

"What -"

"Get under the car," she hisses, shoving me underneath the van so hard that gravel scrapes my cheek. No big deal. Especially not if it's Erasers that are chasing us. I hide underneath the car, heart thumping, as Angel throws herself down next to me. She looks distinctly annoyed as she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a huge shiv. My eyes widen at the sight of it. "Gotta be prepared," Angel mutters.

My heart goes cold when I see familiar furry, booted feet passing by the car. I glance at Angel. "They're heading towards the apartment."

"How many are there?"

I count pairs of feet. "Three."

Angel groans and clutches her knife tightly. "I'll end this."

Before I can do anything to stop her, she pulls herself out from underneath the van and accosts the Erasers, who scream bloody murder. Erasers don't scream...

I crawl out from underneath the van to find that Angel has just scared the shit out of some teenage boys, who're currently running away with their tails beneath their legs. I hide a smirk as I look over at Angel, who simply says, "Oops."

"Brilliant. Excellent work," I say, grinning.

Angel tucks the shiv back into her pocket and starts walking back towards the apartment. "Don't test me, Barbie. This was kind of a wake-up call. The longer we stay in one place, the more the probability that _real_ Erasers'll catch us. And you didn't handle your last meeting with them so well."

_I hate you_.

Angel grins. "Then I think we'll get along just fine."

* * *

_**FANG**_

"The car's ready," Angel says, entering the room with Max following. "I used a shit-ton of duct tape, so hopefully it won't conk out on us before we reach the Vegas border. I suggest we leave ASAP. We've been here too long already."

"We're going to Vegas?" Nudge asks excitedly. "To the mini Eiffel Tower? To the Luxor?"

"Well, we'll hardly have time for sightseeing," I say dismissively, grabbing the car keys from Angel. "But that's where a _good_ friend of mine lives, and I'm going to need backup in case he tries to kill me."

* * *

**Honestly... this chapter is a filler that I wrote six months ago. And I don't like it.**

**This story... I want to write it, and I want to love it. I really do. But I can't even bring myself to read earlier chapters because they were so shitty with no forward planning that it physically pains me to even think about them.**

**About four months ago, I started a major edit. Like one of those super-deep carpet cleans. But I have no time; I'm only on chapter 3 right now, and this whole story is such a mess. But I wanted to post this because otherwise the document's going to expire in two days and I want this to refer back to. So this isn't a legit update. It's more of a placeholder.**

**Hopefully after IB Exams and prom are over in late May I can really get down to business and give you guys the story you deserve.**

**On a slightly happier note, cookie pizzas combine both cookies and pizzas, and they are HEAVEN ON EARTH.**

**crap, now there are crumbs on my laptop.**

**\- tWS**


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